


All These Things You've Taken

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's always been good at playing the role that the public want to believe in. The smiles of someone who’s happy with his life. Someone who has nothing to want for. It's a bit hard, though, when he's here in this house eating his breakfast for one like every other day since the band ended. It's hard when he goes to bed most nights in this empty house, all on his own, to not face facts about how he feels. He's so bloody lonely, achingly so. He could have people in his bed - the offers are there - but a quick shag isn't what he wants. Living here with no one to share his life with isn't exactly where he pictured his life at this point. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>It isn't what he thought his life would become.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry's resigned to spending his thirtieth birthday alone, until a chance lunch meeting with Liam takes his night and his life on a totally different path. [future!fic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrbrighteyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrbrighteyes/gifts).



> I had LOADS of fun writing with **mrbrighteyes** prompts - the SIA songs were fantastic and a huge thanks to my sweet potato for plotting it out after i got stuck! Hope it hits all the things you might have wanted **mrbrighteyes**! Big thanks to **ofstellardust** on tumblr for organising the exchange. 
> 
> prompt used: _“I’m in pain / It’s lonely at the top / Block outs and airplanes / I still pour you a glass of champagne.” Big girls cry by SIA_
> 
> Other songs for inspiration on my playlist were: Nicest Thing - Kate Nash, Beautiful War - Kings of Leon, Laura - Bat for Lashes, Not in That Way - Sam Smith, Always in My Head - Coldplay, You Will Become - Glen Hansard.

_Tough girl in the fast lane  
No time for love   
No time for hate   
No drama   
No time for games   
Tough girl whose soul aches_

It's with a bang that it all fizzles out.

Well, not really a bang, but definitely more than a whimper.

 

_NOVEMBER 2014_

 

"I can't do this anymore," Harry says, looking down at the glass of water in front of him. The one he hasn't touched since he came in and sat around the table with the other boys, just poured it and listened to them talk.

"We're nearly done, Haz," Liam says, with a gentle hand on his knee before he turns back to Louis, who looks more than a little put out that Harry interrupted the meeting. 

Harry takes a deep breath and tries again. He's just had enough, is all. He's had enough of promoting stupid things like perfumes that they shouldn't even be promoting. He's had enough of people telling him to cut his hair because it's not exactly good for their "image." He's had enough of being told who he should be seen with, and he's had enough of being in the spotlight just so the others (read: Louis) can have time on their own. He's just had _enough_ , is all.

"No, I don't mean this, and I don't mean deciding if we want to bloody add on extra concerts in Asia next year. I mean this. _This_ ," he says, waving his hand about the room. "I've had enough. I don't want to do this anymore."

Niall's smile falls slightly. Zayn yawns, actually paying attention compared to how he usually only sits upright when they have to vote on something that'll mean taking him away from home more than he would like. 

"Harry, we finish this now and we've got a long bloody holiday ahead of us. Can't you just—"

"I want more than just a holiday, Louis," Harry interrupts, and he fixes Louis with a stare that's a little more defiant than normal. 

Louis' eyes narrow like he's about to put up a fight, but it's Liam who speaks up next. 

"Harry, you’re talking in half sentences, mate. Tell us what the problem is and we'll figure out a way to fix it." Liam grins and for a moment Harry's reminded of the boy he first met four years earlier. The one who was utterly focused on winning, who had no time for the shenanigans that Louis and Harry often found themselves in. The one who Harry never thought he'd have a proper relationship with but now counts as one of his best friends. Sort of. He's never been completely able to work Liam out. 

Liam's sitting to Harry's left, closer than the others where they're all congregated around Niall's dining table. They're supposed to have a few drinks and Niall's going to use the grill, even if it's bloody cold out, because they missed summer proper at home. Another summer, another season when they weren't here and Harry'd had to "hide out” in LA just to give most of them peace and keep their band in the spotlight. 

He used to like it. Being someone big. Being noticed just for who he was. But he's not that person. He's not honest about who he is to anyone but a select few and he can't - he just can't do it anymore.

"I don't wanna lie about who I am anymore," Harry says, as honestly as he can because he's been feeling it for a while now and being shut down by their PR hasn't been nice. Then again, telling them he wouldn't _do_ any more interviews if he had to spout mindless shit instead of talking about things that were important, like the writing process for _their_ music, was probably another reason he'd been left out of late.

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair. "You’re not lying, Harry."

"I am, by not saying what I want. It's just the same."

"Lying by omission," Zayn pipes up, breathing out the words in a cloud of smoke. "That's what it is."

"What do you want to tell them, then? Hmm? You want to tell them you're not jumping into bed with that Jenner girl? You want to tell them we've lied to them about your relationships in the last four years?" Louis' tongue is like acid now, his blue eyes sharp. 

"No, I don't want to come out or anything, but fuck!" Harry runs a hand through the hair that everyone seems to want to comment on. It's just _hair_. "I want to be able to go out with my friends and kiss who I want and fucking _be_ who I am instead of what they want. What _you_ want," he says as calmly as possible even as it tears at his heart, laying it all out there fast to get it over with. 

"You already do all of that, Harry. Why fuck it all up now?"

"Because it's not fun anymore."

That quiets Louis; they’re the words they'd agreed on. The one reason that would pull the band apart.

Harry finds his eyes are stinging and he can't look at any of them. He thought he could do this, bring this to the table without it hurting this much, but it feels like someone’s gutting him from the inside out. These boys are everything. Were everything.

"Well then," Louis says, "I guess we're done."

 

_FEBRUARY 2024_

"Happy birthday, baby!" 

Harry grins, rolling over and yawning through his returned "Hello, Mum." The sheets are cool on his skin as he rolls into a patch of warm sun coming in through the window.

It's February, and even after all these years of living in LA he still can't get used to the "winter" here. Especially on big dates like Christmas and his birthday. It's nice, though, as he stretches his toes out, listening to his mum waffle on about the mini-break she and Robin took a few days back and what Gemma is getting up to with her Simon (stuff that Harry already knows; sometimes his mum forgets how close he and Gem are even with an ocean between them).

He half listens, because it's his mum and he loves her, but god, can the woman talk. It must be late here, or early there, he's never gotten a handle on time differences, but the sun is out and he can hear his garden guy, Julio, mowing the lawn. It's definitely Thursday and Harry's definitely thirty years old.

Thirty and living alone in his stupidly big house in a country that's still not really like home, even if he's lived here basically since he was nineteen.

Fuck, where did the time go?

He tunes back in when he can hear her getting a bit soggy on the other end of the line. He laughs her off and tells her he's doing fine. That of course he has plans to celebrate and he's sure he'll hear from the boys. They ended the band mostly amicably after the On The Road Again tour and and seeing out their contract with a best-of album. Sure, Louis didn't talk to him much for two years, but they've gotten past that. Harry even went to Louis and Eleanor's wedding a few years later. He'd been in the country at the time when their first daughter was born, and although none of the band were as close as they had been, they all tended to stay in touch now and again.

It's not a real big surprise, then, when he ends the call with his mum and sees a few familiar names amongst the many in his inbox.

 **The Tommos:** Happy birthday Uncle Hazza! We miss you!

Harry grins at the photo attached of Alice and Edith with their faces all kissy at the camera. He can barely make out El and Louis on either side, Louis going cross-eyed as normal.

 **Zayn M:** Hey mate! Happy Birthday :) Talk soon?

 **Nialler:** Hey wanker !! CHECK YOUR TWITTER !!

Harry cracks a smile at Niall's text. He and Niall have probably been the closest over the last few years. Niall was supposed to come over and celebrate Harry's birthday with him, but then things changed with Harry putting his first album out. It's just a birthday. Harry's had a few and he'll definitely have a few more. 

Still, it hurts a bit knowing that no one from home will be celebrating with him over the weekend. Even if he did tell them all not to bother. Thirty is just a number, isn't it? He loads up Twitter and heads into his list that still has all four boys on it from when he set it up years ago. 

**@Niall Horan:** Happy Birthday @Harry_Styles !! What’s the craic !! Come home soon !! I'll buy you a pint !!

He laughs outright at that, sending back a quick tweet saying he'll hold Niall to it when he's next back on UK soil.

He scrolls through his notifications for a bit, feeling the love from fans who are still around, still wondering what he's up to when he's been virtually quiet since One Direction slowed down. He tweets back a selfie of himself in bed, more focused on his eyes and forehead than anything else. He adds a quick note about looking for crow’s feet at thirty and signs out, before the comments in return start pouring in. 

It's later when he's sitting at the kitchen bench, chewing on some toast with avocado and sipping on his tea, that he replies to his texts. He deletes them as he goes, only realising who he hasn't received one from when the screen is finally clear. 

There's nothing from Liam. Not a tweet, either, which isn't unexpected. He'd hoped, maybe, that there'd be something. Liam's known to leave things to the last minute, but he's been pretty good over the past few years. Then again, Harry has heard nary a word from Liam in over a month. Liam's probably got his own shit going on; Harry's birthday is just another blip on the radar, really.

It hurts a bit, though. There are texts and messages from everyone he's ever called a mate. Even the one's he's not had more than a mere brush with at some party or event. It's nice. It's kind of lovely that people think of him, but it doesn't stop the dull ache in his chest or fill the empty space that he's become good at ignoring of late. 

He's always been good at playing the role that the public want to believe in. The smiles of someone who’s happy with his life. Someone who has nothing to want for. It's a bit hard, though, when he's here in this house eating his breakfast for one like every other day since the band ended. It's hard when he goes to bed most nights in this empty house, all on his own, to not face facts about how he feels. He's so bloody lonely, achingly so. He could have people in his bed - the offers are there - but a quick shag isn't what he wants. Living here with no one to share his life with isn't exactly where he pictured his life at this point. 

It isn't what he thought his life would become.

His phone buzzes with a reminder that he's got a lunch date with Michael from the label at half one. As much as he'd like to put it off and potter about the place for a while, he knows he can't. At least it gives him something to do today that isn't just wallowing at home.

: : :

He shakes Michael's hand at the end of the meeting and stands up because Michael's already on his phone, nearly shouting down the wires. The bill's already been taken care of and Harry knows that three girls at a table around the corner from where they're sitting have been looking at him more often than their food for the past half hour. It's probably time he made a move or he'll be stuck smiling nicely for photos when really, he just wants to get home. 

It's stupid that he's looking forward to getting back there, especially when it does his head in to be alone there more often than not. It's his birthday, though, and not even Michael, who he's worked with for the past year and a half now, remembered at all. It's definitely put a damper on his day, which wasn't actually the best to start out with. He finishes the last of his glass of wine and heads out, fixing his curls under his beanie and straightening his aviators. 

He's not paying all that much attention as he heads out, walking down the stairs, twirling the keys to his bike in his left hand. It's probably because he's considering which route to take home that he literally walks into someone else.

"Oh, sorry, mate! Wasn't watching where I was going!" this voice says. A voice Harry would know anywhere, no matter how many years have passed.

Harry grins and flips his glasses up. "Y'all right there, Liam?"

Liam does this double take and steps back, then before Harry can even prepare for it Liam's got him lifted off the ground in a hug so tight. 

"Harry bloody Styles! What are you doing here?" Liam says, his arms nearly squeezing the air from Harry's lungs. 

"Having lunch," Harry chokes out. Liam smacks him on the back a few times before finally letting him go, his hands tight on Harry's shoulders. 

"Me, too - well, I was going to," Liam says, and he's smiling so wide it makes his eyes crinkle up so Harry can't even see the warm brown anymore.

He looks good. As Harry stops and stares, Liam does the same, and they stand there grinning at each other like idiots. Liam’s still as fit as ever, his muscular arms looking even more so in his tight white shirt. The white makes his tan pop, too. His hair's shaved mostly at the sides with a bit of length on top that he's got gelled up into a quiff. He looks good. 

"You eaten, then?" Liam asks, finally breaking the silence between them that surprisingly wasn't uneasy, even after not seeing each other properly in a few years.

Harry nods and points over to his bike. "Yeah, had a meeting with the label I couldn't get out of. Heading home, actually." 

Liam frowns, lips pouting a little, and Harry still recognises a bit of sadness shining through. 

"You could come back to mine if you want. I mean, I've got food and I'm all right company, so I've been told," Harry says before he even realises what he's saying, and then his cheeks heat up. It's only Liam, yet it feels a little weird asking him over like this. Not that Liam hasn't been to the house, but they haven't been alone together in ages. Harry can't even think of the last time.

Liam breathes out this puff of air and tilts his head to the side, looking up at the restaurant. 

Harry's blush deepens and he finds his hand twitching at his side, keys slapping against his thigh. "Of course. Sorry, you were probably meeting someone and I'm making you late. It was really nice to see you again, Li. We shouldn't leave it this long next time," Harry says, stepping backward toward his bike. "Like, if you're still in town later and you're not busy you should give me a call and—"

"Harry," Liam interrupts, grabbing at Harry's arm. Harry feels his touch like a flame on his skin and it's stupid that just _any_ form of physical contact feels like too much of late. Fuck, maybe he's becoming a hermit like Gemma's been teasing him about for the last six months or so.

In his own defence, he _did_ lock himself away for a while there just so he could get some song-writing done. That was normal, though, right? All creative people did things like that from time to time, didn’t they? Harry was sure he'd heard something about that from somewhere or someone.

"I am meeting someone, yeah, but it shouldn't take too long. I'm so - I'm so bloody chuffed to see you! I'd love to come around, if you're still offering," Liam says with a grin just this side of shy. It transports Harry back to that first awkward meeting they had during boot camp and makes him feel like he's sixteen all over again, his tummy buzzing with butterflies.

Harry really needs to get out more.

"Okay, yeah. That sounds good," is all he comes back with, his tongue feeling a little tied in his mouth as he fiddles with his glasses, shoves them back on.

Liam bounces a little in his trainers, getting his phone out of his pocket. "All right, then, I'll go sort this and see you at yours in about an hour?"

Harry nods and Liam pulls him close - he still hadn't let go of Harry's arm - wrapping him in another warm hug.

"So good to see you again, Haz."

"You too, Liam," Harry answers, hugging Liam back just as hard. "You really don't know how much."

: : :

True to his word, Liam turns up a few hours later after sending Harry a text when he gets a little lost on his way over. Harry's cooked them up some steaks and veg, not having eaten much himself at his meeting. He figures he can count it as an early dinner because he's got naught else to do. Well, he had planned on drinking that thirty-year-old bottle of scotch he'd bought himself as a present for when the new album comes out, but celebrating your birthday alone is probably a better plan for it anyhow. 

Liam's brought some beer and they settle out on Harry's back deck overlooking the pool and catch up. Most of the talking they do is about people they both know; they're still in the same industry, if in different parts of the world, but it's funny how tangled the web is that they're involved in. Liam asks about Gemma and Harry asks about Liam's family. They talk about Louis' girls and about how Zayn still seems hung up on Perrie, even though that went south just after the band ended. They were lucky, though, they'd never gotten married so there was no messy gossip-magazine divorce. 

Liam goes quiet after that and he looks a bit lost as he stares into the last of his beer before throwing it down. 

"Speaking of divorce, mine came through today," he says, more to the empty bottle in his glass than to Harry.

Harry splutters on his drink, wiping his mouth before putting his own drink down on the table. "What do you mean? Last I heard you two were—"

"We were," Liam sighs, still looking down, but now his shoulders have dropped, too. "It wasn't the same after she lost the baby. We'd tried for so long and that last time was enough."

"Wow," Harry says, genuine shock echoed in his tone. If there were any of them who’d maintained relationships after the band ended, it was Liam and Sophia Harry would have put money on to stick it out. Eleanor and Louis were a given, really, but there was just something about the way Liam loved that girl. They'd always seemed to be so utterly, utterly in love. 

Liam takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "To be honest, even before this last time it wasn’t all that good. I think we were both surprised when she got pregnant for the third time and it took. Got to five months before—" He shrugs, staring someplace between his knees at the floor. Harry wants to get up and do something but before he can, Liam shrugs and sits up. 

"Wasn't meant to be, you know? That's what everyone says. It didn't take all that long to decide to finish it between us. Haven't even lived together for over a year now."

"Managed to keep that quiet," Harry says softly. He'd honestly not heard a word about this at all. Not from any of the other boys. Not even from Louis, who Harry knew Liam still wrote songs with a lot.

Liam smiles this half-sad, half-happy sort of thing. "Yeah, well. Wanted it that way. Felt like a bit of a failure on my part, and you know how I feel about that." 

Harry nods. He feels sort of funny, like all the wind’s been knocked out of his sails with this revelation. What type of chance does Harry have if the people he sort of looked up to, wanted to be in his own life, couldn't get it right? That just serves to make him feel worse because Liam's sitting across from him with all this life baggage and what's the worst Harry's got? A big bloody house and no one to share it with? What's Harry even _done_ with the past ten years of his life at all?

"This calls for something a little stronger," he says to Liam, and he doesn’t wait for an answer but disappears inside the house. 

: : : 

Harry brings out the scotch just after the sun sinks over the yard, stretching shadows across the lawn. Liam laughs when Harry lights the large candle on the table and the smaller lamps around the deck. He asks if they’re scented, which has him in hysterics and Harry confused until he remembers why from their tour the year before they split up the band. It’s like when Harry came back out with the bottle under his arm, all that they discussed before is forgotten, put to the side for another time when Liam's hurt isn't so raw.

It doesn't take them long to slip into companionable silence once they've knocked back a few glasses of Harry's scotch. It's broken a few times with the clinking of ice in their glasses as they both sip steadily on the smooth, aged scotch. Harry's never been a massive fan, but he figures when you're thirty you should at least try and drink the good stuff. 

He must wince a bit too much when he takes a larger than normal gulp, because that's when Liam pipes up.

"You really don't look like you're enjoying that."

Harry shakes his head, his nose scrunched up as he swirls the ice around his glass. "Not much. But," he shrugs, "seemed like a good idea, today of all days."

Liam reaches out and grabs at the bottle, checking the date and giving a low whistle as he reads it. "This is thirty-year-old - oh, shit! How'd I bloody forget, mate?" He's up and out of his chair, wrapping his arms around the back of Harry's neck and pressing his lips wet and sloppy all over the side of Harry's face. Harry grins as Liam sings him happy birthday while simultaneously trying to prise Liam's arms from around his neck and ducking his face out of the way. 

Liam eventually gives up, his hands gripping either side of Harry's head as he places one last kiss on Harry's curls. 

"We," he says, topping up their drinks before picking up his own, "need to get out of here, mate. This can't be the way you celebrate your thirtieth, sitting here in your house with just me and some scotch."

Harry's face heats up again, this time more from something that feels a little like shame than from embarrassment. Liam's right, though, Harry never saw this birthday of all his birthdays going mostly unnoticed. When he thinks back to the last proper big party he had with Nick and all his pals in London when he was no more than nineteen, sitting here in the candlelight really isn't saying all that much in the scheme of things.

"It's all right, it's just another day, really."

Liam's eyes bulge. "Just another day? I knew you'd gotten a bit quiet over here on your own, but there's no way I thought you'd bloody write off a chance for a celebration like this, Harry." 

Harry shrugs because it's true. Liam's hitting a little too close to home about all the things that have gone through Harry's mind in the last month or two leading up to today. He could have thrown a party of his own. Could have had everyone he knows over, and he didn't. It all just seemed like a lot of effort when all he really wanted was someone to _make_ an effort over him. Someone to actually give Harry and his happiness a thought.

"No. Get up. We are going out, and you are showing me just what the nightlife is here properly. We've both got things to celebrate, and you turning thirty is the best of the bunch!" Liam says, slamming his scotch back with relative ease whereas Harry's still looking at his own.

"C'mon then, bottoms up while I call us a cab," Liam says, nodding at Harry's glass while sliding his finger across the screen of his phone. Liam's face is flushed with the alcohol they've consumed and his quiff's fallen a bit. He still looks all right, though. It's not like anyone will really care _what_ they look like; a little bit of star promo for your club always makes dress code rules sway slightly. 

Harry slams the drink back, coughing a bit and Liam's eyes light up at the sound. Harry gives him the finger while Liam's on the phone. He's always had fun when they've gone out, just the two of them. It hasn't happened in years, but Harry can remember each and every time. Mostly. He does recall the headaches the next day, too, but hanging out with Liam was never as bad as when Niall would drag him out, or Louis and Zayn in Bus bloody two and the smoking that would go on. No, Liam loves a dance and a drink and Harry's in dire need of both of those right now.

He could really do with a bit of fun.

: : :

Harry wakes up curled up on the floor mat on his heated bathroom floor. His mouth tastes disgusting and he's pretty sure there's sick, or something that _was_ once sick, inside his nose. When he blinks his eyes open it's only to close them again quickly when gravity comes rushing in. His stomach rolls and he tries to keep as still as possible, and after a few minutes have passed and everything's stayed in its place he makes a move to stand up. Slowly.

Once he manages to stand at the sink and wash his mouth out with water and mouthwash, he gets in the shower and tries to figure out exactly what happened the night before. He remembers the first club and drinks, the second and dancing, followed by a third and shots and more dancing. After that it gets kind of hazy. He tries not to think of too much else while he lets the hot water sluice down over his head and shoulders, and it works. Mostly. 

Mostly he sees Liam smiling and remembers them dancing close, Liam looking so, _so_ happy. His smile was bright and his lips stained red with some drink they'd had at one of the clubs. Liam pressing in close, hands on Harry's waist as the crowd closed in around them. He remembers laughing, lots of laughing, when they stumbled home. They'd turned Harry's stereo on and drunk shots from the rest of the bottle of scotch that was still out from before they'd left.

There was more dancing, and singing . . . he definitely remembers them singing and swaying. There was possibly something else, after they'd fallen onto the sofa. More laughing and drinking and . . . .

Did they - did they kiss?

Harry leans against the tiled wall, ever so thankful for the powerful shower head he has in here as the water pounds against the top of his shoulders and back. He touches his lips briefly before a wave of nausea hits and then he concentrates more on not bringing up whatever's left in his stomach than the possibility of having snogged his mate.

They probably did. They'd all mashed lips with each other over the years for no other reason than all-consuming happiness or being utterly bladdered at the time. It's not inconceivable. It probably didn't happen. Maybe.

Harry finally makes it out of the shower, pulls his favourite joggers on, and rubs a towel through his hair as he heads downstairs. He can smell the bacon before he gets to the kitchen. It's not the best of scents, but it doesn't make his tummy turn so there's that. He finishes up drying his hair as he enters and drops the towel into a pile on the bench as he pulls himself onto one of the stools.

"How's your head?" Liam asks from somewhere near the stove. Harry groans in answer, because it's bloody pounding now that Liam mentions it.

"There's, um, stuff, above the sink." He motions to where it is before laying his head down on his hands.

Liam laughs and Harry moans some more. "How are you so bloody chipper this morning? Didn't you match me drink for drink?"

Liam sets a glass of juice and a couple of pills down in front of Harry's fingers. "Yeah, but I was sober enough to ask you where these were and get some in me before I passed out. I did leave some beside your bed."

"I didn't sleep there. Well, I didn't wake up anywhere that comfortable," Harry says with a wince after swallowing his pills and letting his stomach settle.

When he looks up, Liam's at the stove in his tight white pants and nothing else. He's really not let himself go in the past near-decade. His back is broad and there's new ink there curling from the wing of of his shoulder down the middle of his spine. It looks like a tree or branches or something, and there's part that looks like numbers or a word, but Harry's not close enough to figure it out. His legs are still as muscular as ever, like bloody tree trunks. Liam honestly looks like a wet dream as his muscles shift, putting together what smells like a bacon sarnie and eggs from what Harry's nose can make out.

Harry feels his dick twitch a bit in his joggers, fattening up, and he hopes his face is schooled into something normal when Liam turns around. It's obviously been far too long between shags if he's finding Liam attractive. Not that he isn't . . . it's just that Harry gave up long ago on lusting over straight boys. It never worked out all that well.

He thanks Liam with a smile as he sets the plate of delicious, fatty-smelling hangover food in front of Harry and leans against the bench on the other side with a plate of his own. They don't talk while they eat, which is probably for the best because Harry keeps finding himself watching Liam lick brown sauce from the corners of his lips and it's a little awkward, to say the least, when Liam catches him and grins, making a big show of sticking his tongue out and swiping from one side to the other exaggeratedly.

"So you remember, then?" Liam asks, licking bits of yolk, sauce, and oil from his fingers once his plate is clean.

It's more than distracting, but Harry's full and finally feeling a bit more like himself. He can pretend not to notice how sexual a move that kind of is. It's just _Liam_. It doesn't mean anything.

Harry collects both their plates and takes them to the sink before he answers. "Remember what?"

"How we sort of snogged on your sofa? I was beginning to think it was just me," Liam says with a laugh that sounds nervous or something like it.

"No," Harry lies, focusing on rinsing the dishes because he doesn't want this to be awkward between them. He can count on two hands how many true friends he has in his life; he really doesn't want to lose one over him being drunk and so fucking lonely he snogged a mate.

"Was pretty out of it, can't even remember how we got home," Harry says, turning and plastering what he hopes is a believable smile on his face.

Liam frowns but it disappears so quickly from his face, Harry could have been imagining it. "Right, yeah. Me, too. Probably was someone at the club, then."

Harry feels this rush of relief that doesn't entirely sit well. He hates lying, but the truth adds up to more questions and Harry isn't equipped to deal with those right now. "Probably."

"You do remember wanting to write together, though, right?" Liam says, and he looks so hopeful and Harry does vaguely recall that conversation. Something about Liam having some ideas he wanted to run by Harry, some things they could work on.

"Of course, mate," Harry says, and Liam's entire face lights up like a bloody excited pup. If he had a tail it'd be wagging, of that Harry is certain.

Liam claps his hands together, giving Harry what feels like the most genuine smile of the morning. "Well, then, better get a brew on and we can get started!"

Harry groans but makes his way to the kettle anyway. He knows that look on Liam - there's no way Harry's going to be lying around with this hangover today. No way at all.

Well, at least he didn't spend his birthday alone.


	2. Chapter 2

  
_I come home_  
On my own  
Check my phone  
Nothing, though  
Act busy  
Order in  
Pay TV  
It's agony  
  


Working on some songs turns into Liam bringing his bags over from the hotel and crashing at Harry's for the next three weeks. It means staying up until all hours with a guitar in hand, or sitting beside Liam at the piano as they pick apart a particular opening or bridge into a chorus. It means being woken up, still lying on the beat-up leather sofa Harry has in the basement studio of his home because Liam's thought of a fix it for a troubling line in the chorus. It means going to sleep to the sound of someone else's breathing and waking up to Liam singing softly under his breath.

It's nearly a month of not being lonely, of a happiness that Harry can feel seeping right down deep into his bones.

The bad part is, Harry doesn't want it to end. He's selfish. He wants Liam here for as long as possible, and while Liam doesn't have a proper end date for needing to get back home, he can't stay forever. Harry knows this. 

Still, it doesn't stop him from ignoring the subject, or coming up with more excuses why he needs Liam to stay when he mentions getting out of Harry's hair. That's not to say they don't do things separately. 

Turns out Liam is in the process of putting his own album together, something he's not done in four years or so, not since he and Sophia had that first miscarriage. He's a bit cagey about sharing his work with Harry. Liam will head to one of the studios the label have set up for him on his own every few days and he won't let Harry come with him. It's fine, Harry has meetings with some producers on the songs he does have in the can. He's got friends he could see, invites to late lunches and dinners and a few parties. All of which he studiously ignores with the excuse he's writing. Not that he's done a lot of that, more listening to Liam and his thoughts on Harry's music and writing a few things together.

It takes more than a few drinks one late Saturday or early Sunday for Liam to finally play one of his songs to Harry. Harry may or may not have been feeding Liam Manhattans most of the evening because he likes to watch Liam play with the cherry stems, sliding them from one side of his lips to the other. Or maybe he just loves the taste of them, it's too hard to tell.

They haven't been doing all that much. Just messing around with a riff that Harry hasn't been able to get out of his head in days and Liam is trying to echo on the piano. Harry puts his guitar down and lies down on the sofa, a fresh drink sitting on the floor as he stares up at the ceiling and listens to Liam play with a few notes on the piano. 

It eventually changes into something a little slower, a little deeper, that feels sort of heavy even to Harry's ears.

"That's nice, Li," he says, his eyes drifting closed as Liam plays on. The snatches he teased earlier turn into something a bit more refined.

Liam doesn't say anything properly in return, just starts playing this bit over and over. He's lulled Harry into this almost hypnotic state with the repetition when he starts to sing, his voice low and soft and sort of hollow. Harry pays more and more attention as the song builds. The lyrics speak of a hurt that Harry can't fathom, of a loss so great he has nothing to compare it to. He feels the emotion-fuelled words flow over him like waves breaking softly against a shore, slowly pulling back and leaving bare bones in their wake. 

Harry's heard Liam sing a thousand times or more. He's heard him in the tour bus shower, in a stadium, and here in the quiet of his studio. Yet he's never heard him like this. Liam's voice is still as beautiful as it ever was. His range always astounds Harry, the way he can punch out a note like a physical blow, or near-whisper a tone leaving you aching with feeling. This song gives Harry all of that and more. Liam finishes and they sit there in near silence. The last key struck on the piano leaves an elongated hum around them. 

It's almost too much. It's the silence, though, that has Harry rolling off the sofa and sitting beside Liam on the bench. There was so much of Liam in that song, so much of his hurt and his great big heart. Harry can see the tears still fresh on Liam's cheeks, a mirror image of those that have left tracks on his own. He can think of nothing but wanting to be there for Liam as he wraps his arm around him tight. Both of them turn to straddle the bench and Liam falls into Harry's embrace. Harry's never felt closer to anyone in his life. This is a feeling bigger than anything he's ever had in a relationship before. Liam shifts so his forehead is pressed to Harry's shoulder and they hold each other through this revelation of Liam's pain that he seems to hide so well.

Harry really doesn't think all too much as his hand rubs a warm circuit over the broad expanse of Liam's back. He'll make up a million excuses for why Liam shifts the barest amount, turning into Harry's touch. 

They're just so emotionally and physically drained from staying up all night and day, is the thing. They're too tired to really think at all, at least Harry is, as his lips press to the unshed tears that line Liam's lashes. The air feels so thick around them as Harry kisses every trace of moisture on Liam's face until he's done. There's the barest microsecond to think about what's just happened, to consider the implications of each and every kiss. He barely gets a breath in, though, before Liam cups his face with both hands, gently like he doesn't want to spook Harry. Harry hasn't even considered moving an inch. Liam's thumbs sweep across the apples of Harry's cheeks, soft over the tender skin under his eyes. Another breath and the heavy air around them feels like it's stretching to the breaking point, waiting for something to be said or done to break it.

Later, much later, Harry will wonder what would have happened if, instead, he’d spoken. 

Leaning into Liam's touch seems like the right thing to do, though. Pressing his lips to Liam's softly, then more assuredly as Liam presses back, seems like a better way to convey what he feels than with words. They kiss like that, soft and sweet and tender, for a lot longer than Harry imagines they could. Not that he's imagined a situation like this; he never thought Liam's music could leave him feeling so vulnerable and raw. 

They kiss until eventually Harry pulls back, smiling a little as Liam's lashes flutter open, revealing the warm brown beneath. His lips stay the way they were against Harry's until they shift into a soft grin of his own. 

"Thanks, Haz," he whispers, low and warm. 

"Thank you," Harry says softly back. He's not entirely sure he means for _just_ sharing the song. It's why he gets up after giving Liam one last hug, unsteady on his feet as he climbs the stairs.

He puts on the kettle and can't stop running the pads of two fingers over his tingling lips. It's a long time before Liam comes up to join him in the living room, where they watch the sunrise play its rainbow of colours in the sky to the east. Even then, Harry can't stop thinking about that kiss. 

: : :

It takes three days for one of them to mention it. Three days where Liam's not at Harry's and Harry's alone. He tries not to put too much thought into why Liam suddenly has to go work on his music without Harry. Liam's working out at a friend’s home studio where - even though it's only an hour’s drive with traffic - Liam spends the night. He's too tired, or he finishes too late, and he texts Harry but it's not the same.

Harry’s become used to the sound and feel of someone else in his home. Three weeks of basically having Liam to himself and he's forgotten how hard it is to live here in this big house on his own. It's probably why he's so fucking happy that Liam's back, arriving late in the afternoon on Wednesday while Harry's out swimming laps in his pool purely for something to do. 

He spots Liam when he's doing a turn at one end, nearly chokes on water as he tries to call out hello. Liam's cackling when Harry finally gets himself upright. He swims the short distance to where Liam's leaning over at the edge, holding a hand out to Harry with a rather stupid grin on his face. Harry pouts a bit but takes Liam's hand and lets him help pull Harry from the water. 

A rather stupid move on Liam's part, because Harry leans back and tugs, ending with Harry back underwater and Liam joining him. It's Harry's turn to laugh then, while Liam sputters to the surface muttering about being lucky he'd already left his phone inside. He's smiling, though, even if he splashes water at Harry's face, and Harry has to return it. It turns into a bit of an all-out water fight that develops into them dunking each other until Liam's got his legs wrapped around Harry's waist in an attempt to get him to stop. He's laughing and it's a sound Harry's missed. He grapples with Liam's hands, then gets a good grip on his upper arms.

"I win," Harry says, squeezing hard where he's got a good hold on Liam, who's not doing much more now than tightening his grip underwater around Harry's hips.

Liam flails for a bit but then stills, brown eyes sparkling with mischief as Harry finally gets his feet back on the pool floor. He can manage to keep them upright now without having to rely on their semi non-existent buoyancy in the water. 

"Yeah, yeah, you do," Liam says as he leans in. Their faces get closer together until Harry's nearly going cross-eyed trying to keep Liam's eyes in view. 

"Liam," Harry starts, not exactly sure where he's going to go with this, as the tip of Liam's nose brushes against his own. He feels like his skin’s electrified, fizzing out at every point where they're connected. This is different from in the studio, where it was a feelings overload. This is different from the first night, where it was more an accident than anything else.

This is Liam leaning in and Harry's eyes so set on Liam's, that deep brown stare that holds Harry's own, that he can't look away. Doesn't want to look away. He's just so happy Liam's back. He's home. 

His grip soon loosens on Liam's arms as his hands slide over Liam's cool, wet skin. He's got so many bloody muscles is the thing. He's just so _fit_ , it's impossible to ignore. Harry can feel every breath passing between them, they're so close. It's like time's paused when they're together like this, this moment outside of everything else. It's worse when Liam's lips brush against his like a question - once, twice, then surging forward so Harry has to hold onto Liam's shoulders as Liam deepens their kiss. His tongue is this insistent press at the seam of Harry's lips and rubs softly against Harry's the moment he opens his mouth. Liam's thighs are tight around Harry's hips as Liam's fingertips thread into the wet length of Harry's hair. 

The water was cool when Harry first got in, but he's hot now. He's burning up with this rush of feeling as Liam shifts against him and Harry can hardly _breathe_ it feels so good. Harry can feel himself getting hard in his swimming trunks, and from the way Liam's moving his hips against Harry it's not going to be long before Liam realises that, too. It's that, of all things, that has Harry pushing at Liam's chest instead of holding him close. Liam moves back and stands on his own and Harry feels the distance between them immediately, a cool front that sweeps from head to toe. Harry looks to the side, can't look at Liam now, not when he's just been kissing him like he can. Like he didn't realise he wanted to. 

"Liam," Harry starts, once he's caught his breath and moved a few steps to the side, away from temptation almost. "We can't do this, we can't do this again." Liam doesn't say anything and it makes Harry feel worse for bringing it up. "Last time shouldn't have happened, and that time before, we were drunk. But we're not now, and—"

"So you _do_ remember, then," Liam says, a hint of humour in his tone, enough that Harry lifts his head and see's the half smile tugging at the corners of Liam's lips.

"Of course I do," Harry says, a fresh flush heating his cheeks at being caught out on that last one. "I was giving you an out, you idiot!"

Liam laughs and tentatively steps closer. "What makes you think I'd want an out?"

"You've been gone for three days since we snogged in the studio, Liam," Harry points out, and he can hear the whine in his voice. He's an adult, he shouldn't need to whine.

Liam steps closer again. "I was giving you time," Liam says, reaching out so his fingertips brush at Harry's elbow. "I thought you might need some to think things through."

He's so bloody confused. Liam's talking about all of these random kissfests like he wanted them. Like he didn't mind Harry snogging him, someone who's meant to be a mate not some sort of friend-with-lip-benefits sort of deal. "I don't understand," Harry starts, shaking his head and shoving his wet curls behind his ear. His stomach feels like it's in knots.

"I don't know _what_ to think," he says, frustrated when Liam's fingertips slide up from his elbow and along his arm. Liam's toes bump against Harry's; he hadn't noticed him moving so close.

"Well, maybe you don't need to, then. Maybe you just need to do it," Liam says with a shrug of his shoulders and he seems nervous now, when Harry finally looks up. The sun's shining off the water behind Liam, making the drops on his skin shimmer in a golden hue. His chest is so broad and his waist tapers in. All that muscle definition he lost for a while there when the band finished up is back in ways that have Harry itching to reach out and trace with his fingertips. Maybe even his tongue.

He shouldn't be wanting these types of things, though. Not with a mate. 

"What? Just kiss you because you're here and I'm bloody lonely? Should we move on to blowjobs, then? Because I hate living in this house alone and I'm so happy to have anyone here it wouldn't even matter if it were your cock I had my mouth on or not!" Harry snaps. He doesn't know what to think, and the fact that he actually _wants_ what he's just said to Liam is another thing entirely. He tries to slip past Liam to the stairs to get out, but Liam's grip tightens on his arm, making it nearly impossible for Harry to move.

"Harry," he says, and there's pity or something like it infused in his tone and it has tears springing hot and prickling to Harry's eyes. Something he won't be able to pass off as too much time in the chlorine.

"Let me go, Liam." 

"No, no - can you just . . . do you really need a reason for why I want to kiss you? Do you want to know how lonely I've been for longer than I remember? How being with you makes it go away. Do you want to know how meeting you, kissing you, is the first thing that's felt right for me in a long while? Is that what you want to hear?" Liam asks, and Harry closes his eyes. He doesn't know what he wants. 

"You're straight, Liam. I've been down this road before."

Liam laughs and it's a dark thing, makes Harry look up and see something he isn't sure of pass across Liam's face. "I don't know about that, I just know that I like kissing you. I _want_ to kiss you, and I haven't wanted anything like this in a long while."

Harry doesn't know where to start with all of this. The fact that Liam wants to kiss him - and Harry can't deny that he wants to do the same in return - is something that requires more thinking. It needs lots and lots of thought, probably lists of some description, maybe even some time pouting, staring off into space, before making a decision.

Harry, though, Harry's never really been one for those sorts of things. He's always gone with his gut, led with his heart. No matter how bruised it became in the end.

"Okay, then." 

Liam's grip loosens on Harry's arm. His fingers slide down until they tangle with the tips of Harry's own. 

"Okay we can kiss, or okay to blowjobs maybe?" Liam says with a smirk, and Harry rolls his eyes, squeezing his fingers with Liam's.

"Let's just start off at a quick snog and we'll go from there."

Liam's entire face lights up as he tugs Harry back in, gets his arms around Harry's waist and bringing him in close. "I can deal with that."

This time, when Liam leans in to press his lips to Harry's, Harry meets him halfway.

: : :

Harry wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and Liam for a blanket. 

Harry had cooked dinner when they'd gone inside. Liam set up a playlist that he mostly danced around Harry to while pouring them wine. They'd eaten and discussed the new song Liam was working on. Neither of them brought up the discussion in the pool, skirting around it at best. Then it was downstairs carrying another bottle of red and straight into working on a half-finished song that was more for Liam than Harry, and there they'd stayed until the bottle was empty and Harry had headed upstairs to get more. When he'd come back Liam was sitting on the sofa, playing something on Harry's guitar that Harry had not heard before. He crept over slowly and put the bottle on the floor before reaching out and taking the guitar from Liam's hands, letting it join the drink they probably wouldn't be opening for a while. Not if Harry had any say in the matter. 

Liam stared at Harry for a good long minute when he'd straightened up, brushed his fingertips down Harry's cheek and along his jaw. Harry turned his head and pressed his lips to Liam's palm, keeping his eyes on Liam's. It was too dark to tell exactly what he was thinking. He still confused Harry. Why would he want to spend time with someone who was as mostly sad as Harry was when he wasn't in the spotlight? Didn't exactly sound like fun. 

Yet Liam was here. 

Liam had come and breathed so much life into Harry's world in less than a month. If Liam thought them taking a barely-there friendship and pushing it in a new direction was the next best idea, how could Harry say no? 

Liam hadn't gone slow that time at all. He pushed Harry down onto the sofa and kissed him with a force that screamed of a passion Harry never thought he'd have in his life again. Liam held himself above Harry and they'd kissed until Harry must have fallen asleep; he couldn't remember them stopping.

A crick in the neck and Liam for a blanket? Harry just closed his eyes and drifted. A little discomfort for a little pleasure seemed worth it in the cold light of dawn.

: : :

"We should go out tonight. There's this amazing Korean place that I go to sometimes. It'd be fun." Harry smiles, remembering the last time he went there when Pixie was in town. They'd had such a laugh and he'd loved waking up to her messy hair and mascara-smeared panda eyes the next morning when she'd crawled out of the spare bed a little before noon. 

He probably owed her a call.

"Can't we cook here or order in? I've just got this part down and I'm nearly there with the bridge," Liam says, sliding his hands around Harry's waist, his lips softly brushing from the round of Harry's bare shoulder to his neck. He presses his teeth in at the place he's so obviously learned in the last week of endless snogging and grinding like they're teenagers, and it turns Harry on. 

Harry tilts his head to give Liam more room. Gives up on making them more Manhattans because what Liam's doing feels like a more pressing need than booze. It's half five. They've got plenty of time to drink or not.

"But we haven't gone out in days, Liam. The world probably thinks I've kidnapped you." He gasps a little as Liam's fingertips slide under his pants; he'd forgone proper clothes today. Didn't seem worth it when they were the only ones at home. The only ones visiting.

Harry's phone has been mostly silent from his friends since his birthday. One quick show of memory and then forgotten again until he's needed. Like that kitchen utensil you buy because you know you'll need it, just not that often. 

Liam laughs, a burst of vibration at the skin right above Harry's pulse. He rocks back into Liam's hold with little thought about what his body’s doing on its own. Seeking out the person who's here, the one who's cared enough to stay. Even if it's just the two of them staving off a lonesomeness that they'd previously taken on on their own.

Liam’s still here, though. Making Harry laugh and moan and _feel_ something he hasn't in a long while.

"If by kidnapped you mean making me drink these cocktails of yours just so you can watch me play with the cherry with my tongue." Harry gasps a little at Liam's words, said in jest, especially as they end with Liam licking a line in the same space he was kissing before.

"Not that I'm complaining," Liam whispers deep and low at Harry's ear. Harry has to tighten his hands on the edge of the bench. His balance is slightly swayed by blood flow being directed elsewhere from Liam's touch and words alone.

"No?" Harry asks on a barely disguised moan. Liam grips the elastic of Harry's pants and shifts them up and down. It's maddening and exciting at the same time because he's never had Liam like this. Teasing and so fucking sexy and yet the playful Liam he knows all at the same time. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

"No," Liam answers, spinning Harry around with a gentle nudge of his hands. "But I can think of better things to do with my tongue."

With that he tugs Harry's pants down and drops to his knees with a wince as he hits the tiled floor. 

Harry's cock pulls free, bouncing up slightly toward his hips, already half hard from just having Liam close before. This, though, this is Harry losing his breath with how Liam's licking slowly over those ridiculously gorgeous lips. His hands move slow and sure over Harry's thighs, like he's preparing Harry for something more. It _is_ a lot more when he leans in, his lips leaving a scorching trail down one side of the laurels inked in Harry's skin, then the other. Harry might actually break the counter, he's holding on so tight, especially because Liam's driving him crazy with his tongue and touches just shy of where Harry wants them most. His cock is fattening up from the mere hint that Liam might get there, eventually. 

Liam nudges Harry's legs apart, starts sucking bruising marks into the tender skin of his inner thighs. It takes all Harry has not to move, to just let Liam do this in the way he so obviously wants. Might have even been planning or thinking about, judging by how bloody slow he's going.

"Th-thought you mentioned something about—" He pauses, has to catch his breath when Liam looks up at him with those sinful dark eyes through even darker lashes. " _Fuck, Li._ " Harry bites at the inside of his cheek as Liam licks his lips, shiny and a deep rosy hue. "Your tongue?"

Liam pokes it out for a moment and Harry chuckles until he's cut off because Liam's got his hand wrapped around Harry's cock, steadying it as he tongues over the head. 

So he's good with his tongue.

Harry finds out _how_ good as Liam continues. His mouth slowly takes Harry in and in as his hand works the rest. Harry curses softly and the pink of Liam's lips blushes deeper as his cheeks hollow and fill and fuck, his mouth is so warm and it's a bit wet because Liam's got spit everywhere, but it's so, _so_ fucking good. Maybe it's because it's Liam or maybe it's because he hasn't had anyone look at him like Liam is looking up at him right now. Maybe it's because he knows they're on the same page, lost and lonely and finding comfort in another soul who feels the same.

Maybe it could be something more.

Harry files that thought away for later and slides his fingertips, shakily into Liam's hair. He scratches at Liam's scalp in ways that he's enjoyed himself in Liam's position, and Liam hums around him. It's enough to have the muscles in Harry’s thighs twitching, his body thrumming with a need for more and more, anything to get closer to utterly falling apart. 

Liam bobs his head up and down, this suction and wet heat that's driving Harry mad. He's cursing up a storm and whimpering Liam's name as Liam flicks the tip of his tongue over the slit, circles the crown and plays with Harry's foreskin before sucking him down again. Harry’s stomach muscles tense and release, feel like they're being branded with fire with every shift of Liam's hand that's basically the only thing holding Harry back from fucking into LIam's mouth. He's trying to be good, really, because Liam's doing this and Liam's so bloody amazing at it. 

It makes Harry wonder who he's done this to before. Who else has had Liam on his knees, looking up at them with those big coffee-brown eyes of his looking needy and wanton and fucking _gagging_ for it. It spikes a different form of heat, low in Harry's belly, has him twisting his fingers in Liam's hair a little harder, has him moaning a little louder just to let Liam know that _he_ likes this. That _he_ wants it as much as Liam wants to take Harry apart. 

"So fucking close, Liam," he nearly grunts, finding it hard to make proper sentences as the tip of his dick hits the back of Liam's throat for the third time. Liam chokes a bit, the corner of his eyes wet with unshed tears, but he doesn't stop. He takes Harry a little further each time and holds him there, while Harry tries to remember that breathing is a thing he normally knows how to do. 

Liam relaxes his throat further and takes Harry back even more, and that's pretty much it for Harry. He's got enough time to whimper to Liam again that he's going to come. Liam stares up at him with this resolution that Harry can read on his brow before he actually does. There are these gasping, raspy _sounds_ leaving his chest as he spurts over Liam's tongue and deep into his mouth. Liam's hold on Harry's stomach loosens, letting Harry's hips punch forward until he stills, spent. 

Liam sucks at the head long after Harry's finished coming, until he has to shove Liam away because it's too much. Liam lands hard on the floor, right on his bum. He's wiping at his mouth with one hand, the other already sliding inside his swimming trunks because he'd jumped in the pool earlier. The shiny red material is tented right out and Harry can't help falling to the ground and pushing Liam over to fit his mouth to Liam's. To lick the taste of himself from Liam's mouth as he shoves at Liam's hand, getting his own around Liam's cock. Liam's back arches into the touch, but it's not enough. Harry needs more.

He nips at Liam's collarbone and traces his tongue over Liam's nipples one at a time as he slides his body between Liam's legs. Liam whines steadily above him as Harry grazes his teeth over the ridiculous indentations of Liam's stomach. He's still shaking from his own release but he _has_ to do more. He has to show Liam he wants this, whatever they're doing, as much as Liam does. And he wants Liam to _let go_. 

He tells him as much just before he gets his mouth on the tip of Liam's cock. It's just in time, as Liam starts to come, jizzing thick and a little less bitter than Harry remembers across Harry's tongue. He tries to hold it all there, curling his tongue like a cup, but some of it still spills out the corner of his mouth as he sits up. He takes in the flushed skin of Liam's chest and neck. His lips are so red and his cheeks more so, eyes glazed over as he pants, staring at Harry in something like awe. Harry crawls up and over Liam's body, collapsing half on Liam's torso as he plants his hands on either side of Liam's head. He drops low enough to show Liam what he has on his tongue before pressing his lips to Liams and letting Liam's jizz spill between their mouths. 

Liam's hands wrap heavily around Harry's waist and they kiss until the taste of each other’s spunk is gone and it's just Harry and Liam, that's all. Harry pulls back eventually, nuzzles into the crook of Liam's neck and breathes in sweat and chlorine and Liam underneath. 

"See," he says, still out of breath. "I can do things with my tongue, too."

Liam's laughter rocks into Harry's chest, knocking hard against his once-hollow heart.

: : :

If they don't leave the house for another week, too busy exploring each other’s bodies with tongues and touch, no one's really to know.

Well, they both had to put off their labels with excuses on why they weren't doing anything but "write," but it's nothing too out of the ordinary.

The mutual blowjobs probably are. The twenty-four hours when they tried to see how many times they could come without passing out is another. 

(Not that they actually ended up with a number on that; they' both passed out and couldn't remember who was winning at last count.)

(Really, they were both winners. Count or not.)

Harry tries not to wonder about what it is for Liam, this sex thing that they've got going on. He tries not to push together the idea of Liam he had previously - the straight as a line, serial dater, _monogamous, married man_ , with that of the epic cocksucker that Liam seems to be now, and Harry's good at it.

In the end, he doesn't have to ask.

Harry's kicking Liam's arse on an old Mario Kart game when Liam just blurts it out.

"You know, I think this whole liking to suck cock thing might have been another reason why my relationships never really worked out," Liam says, cheering as he overtakes Harry's Princess Peach with his little Mario.

The only reason he does is because Harry's so shocked at what Liam's said that he's dropped his controller on the ground.

"It's just - I mean, I had a great sex life, always did. This, though, I really like this." He nods to Harry with a grin and Harry can't answer. Just sort of looks at Liam because this, of all things he'd ever expect to come from Liam's mouth, really isn't one of them.

"So," Liam says as Mario passes the chequered flag. "Just thought you should know."

Harry punches Liam in the arm and it's the last they speak about it.

: : :

That's not to say that it doesn't play in Harry's mind. Liam's sort of confession that he likes boys as much as he likes birds. That he enjoys getting off with both sexes.

It still doesn't say much about what they're doing. Or where it's going. 

Harry's a little afraid to ask.

: : :

He forgets about it, pushes it to the back of his mind as the days stretch on and then it's two months that Liam's lived with him. The weather turns as cool as it can for southern California, yet this season doesn't seem as sort of cold and desperate as the last.

They're lying out on the deck under cover because it's raining out. Harry pulled the duvet out from the spare room and he and Liam have curled up on the outdoor sofa, snuggled up watching the rain and making out like they’re teenagers again. 

It’s nice. Just lying there and being held close with Liam's arm around Harry's shoulders. His free hand toying with Harry's fingers. His lips often finding Harry's forehead, the corner of his brow, his lips if Harry tilts his head up. Harry knows the warmth in his chest isn't just the sweet milky tea Liam made for them before. He knows it’s developing into something else and that he should move, do _something_ else to gain some distance. Distance from Liam and who he is and who he isn’t going to ever be for Harry in the long run. 

He stays still, though, content in the now.

It's probably because he's so happy and warm that he asks. He forgets about Cal's nephew inviting him to his engagement party. It's something he usually would have fobbed off or had some fake emergency _thing_ he couldn't get out of, but they've hardly left the house and he wouldn't mind . . . showing everyone how happy he actually is. Because he _is_ , and it's Liam who’s making him so.

So he doesn't expect Liam's complete shutdown when he asks. He doesn't expect Liam to pull away so quickly, leaving Harry alone on the sofa with Liam's heat like a phantom touch, fading as fast as Liam walks inside the house. Harry shakes his head, as if it'll make a difference to his understanding of Liam's reaction. It doesn't, so he wraps the duvet around his shoulders and heads inside. He finds Liam flicking through channels on the TV without spending long enough on any one to know exactly what he does or doesn’t want to watch. 

"It's only Cal, Liam. It's just a party he's holding at his house. It's not like it's us going out on the red carpet or anything," he says, unable to hide the hurt in his tone.

Liam still doesn’t look at him, but at least he's stopped changing the channels. It's stuck on one of those endless advert TV shows that Harry thought he'd blocked since the time Louis was over and bought up big while he was strung out and jet-lagged. Eleanor had actually cut up his credit card that time.

"I don't want to go out."

Harry sighs, holding the blanket up with one hand while rubbing at his eyes with the other. He feels out of sorts and he doesn't know if he should put it down to it being cold out or Liam's tone. He sounds different, cold and shut off, and Harry doesn't like it at all.

"It's not out, Li. It's not even like you have to get dressed up."

Liam shrugs, but his spine's still stiff. "You go then. I'll write or something. It's fine."

Harry rolls his eyes and steps forward so he can press his cheek to Liam's shoulder. "But I don't want to go alone. I want you to come." It's the closest he can get to saying he wants Liam to come so everyone can see why Harry's so different. Why Cal kept saying he sounded so upbeat on the phone. Why Cal kept asking if he was seeing anyone. 

He wants to show them Liam. The reason he's not just holed up in the house to write or play music. The reason he hasn't felt alone in months now.

"I can't do that. I can't go with you. People will talk." Liam takes a step away from Harry and it makes Harry frown. 

They were just curled up on that sofa, wrapped up in their duvet like there was nowhere else they wanted to be in the world, and now Liam's pulling away so fast he's leaving nothing but dust in his wake.

"So what? It's only Cal's family, maybe some friends of his nephew, but it's not—"

"People will see and people will talk. It's fine for you. It always is. But this is me and I'm not - I'm not like you," Liam interrupts, dropping the remote control on the table and looking at the floor instead of at Harry.

It hurts. It hurts that someone who’s supposed to be his friend, supposed to be almost _family_ , is making him feel like what he is is wrong. Harry’s stomach drops and in a second his hurt turns into anger and he can't help spitting out his next words.

"You can't even _say_ it. You can't even say who you are, and yet you had my cock in your mouth this morning and your tongue in my arse last night!"

Liam flinches but still stands where he is, shoulders low. He _still_ won't look Harry in the eye. "I'm not, though, at least I don't think I am completely. I can’t have been married to Sophia for all those years and not—"

Harry can't keep quiet a moment longer. He's nearly shaking with anger at how easily Liam's brushed off what they are together. Who they have been for these last few months. "Well, why don't you just go back to her and figure out who the fuck you are? Because I'm not going to be anyone’s secret."

Liam does look at him then, and Harry has to fight hard not to fall for the tears he can see forming in Liam's eyes. For the tremble in his lips. "I don't - I don’t want you to be a secret, I just . . . I want us to be us and keep it for us for a little while. Why's that so bad, Haz?" He takes a step forward and this time it's Harry taking one in reverse. 

He pulls the duvet tighter around his shoulders, even though it's not enough to keep him warm. He feels cold to his bones now. "Because," he starts off quietly, "I did that once and you know how that turned out and that was me when I was sixteen, Liam. I'm thirty now. I don’t want to go back to hiding who I am."

"I'm not asking you to. I just need a little time to sort out who I am. Can't you understand that? Not all of us had the luxury of figuring out who we were when we were that young!"

Harry feels like he's been slapped. Liam was once his most avid supporter, and to hear him talking like this . . . it just leaves him cold. "I wouldn't call having to hide who I was a luxury, Liam. I wouldn't call fake dates and playing up the 'straight factor' something I found fun."

"I know." Liam sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm . . . I'm just asking for some time." He looks at Harry, big eyes and this pleading look on his face. He looks confused and hurt and sad but Harry's too angry to want to process that. He's too hurt himself by his reactions to Liam's words.

"Fine. You can have it. Take all the time you want. You just won’t be taking mine."

"Harry," Liam whispers in this almost heartbroken tone. Harry can't deal with that, though. Harry can't be anything for anyone any more but who he is. He promised himself that when he made his decision to end the band to the boys over ten years ago. He can't go back on it now.

"I think you should leave. I think you need to go now before we both say things that we shouldn’t." Harry feels hollow, gutted almost, from this conversation and all the things Liam's thrown back in his face. Things he thought he wouldn't have to listen to in his personal life anymore. "Just go and figure out who you are and what you want, and if that turns out to be me, okay - but until you've figured it out I can’t do this with you because I think I could fall in - fall for you." He catches himself just in time. That word is out of the question now. Not with Liam acting like this. Maybe not ever. "This hurts too much." 

Liam says Harry's name wetly but Harry's already turned to face back out the door, watches the rain still falling softly over the yard. 

"Please, Li, please just go."

"Okay. All right then," Liam says, resigned. Harry stands there and listens to Liam's footsteps heading toward the spare room, where he hasn't slept in weeks. He stays there, watching the rain get heavier until he hears Liam's footsteps again, hears the front door open and close. He's still there at the sound of Liam's rental car being started up and crunching on the gravel of the front drive.

He stays there letting tears roll down his cheeks, crying for another wasted relationship - because it was that, was going to be that. He mourns another failed attempt at being _with_ someone. He thought he'd have a family by now. Thirty years old and no kids, nobody to share his life with. Just a big empty house and a broken heart.


	3. Chapter 3

_It's lonely at the top_  
Block outs and airplanes  
I still pour you a glass of champagne  
Tough girl whose soul aches 

"Haven't heard from you in a while," Cal says as he brings up the photos in his tablet from the sort of shoot that they did for the album cover and booklet inside.

"I saw you last week. You took all of these, remember?" Harry says. He shoves at Cal's arm and slides through the images, already seeing a few he wants to short-list for the cover.

Cal takes a drink of his beer and sets it down on the coffee table. Harry can feel his friend’s eyes on him, knows the concerned stare he's probably getting.

"Yeah, but the most you talked about was your family, and even that I had to push you for."

Harry focuses on the black and white shot in front of him. It's a bit grainy, a bit out of focus, but you can see his profile just off to the side. It's the kind of shot people read a lot into. Harry sees loneliness and switches to the next. He's sort of half smirking in this one. Eyes down, his thick lashes hiding the green, hiding behind a faked happiness that Harry is finding it harder to keep up now than ever before.

"Guess I didn't feel like talking," he shrugs. 

There's a lot he could say. 

How he hasn't been sleeping again since Liam left. How nearly three months of just _being _with someone had filled up all the empty spaces inside. They'd evaporated, though, the minute Liam walked out the door.__

__"I'm your friend, right?"_ _

__Harry nods as he zooms in on a flower at the back of a shot. It’s this cactus thing that blooms every year for a few months, or so he'd been told on the day of shoot when he'd asked. This kind of beautiful thing that people rarely see unless they venture into the desert. Feels kind of ironic._ _

__"Think this could be the cover." He taps at it, forgetting that it'll disappear when he does. Also fitting, really._ _

__Everything good that he touches disappears, after all._ _

__"Harry—" Cal starts. Harry cuts him off and stands, wiping his hands over his jean-clad thighs._ _

__"You can sort out the rest for the inside. I trust your judgement." He picks up his keys and grabs his hat. It's not really a fashion thing anymore, it's just good at keeping the sun off his face and keeping his profile low._ _

__" _Harry—_ " _ _

__He can't do it. Not today. He's been smiling and being _fine_ for hours now. It's time he got home. At least there he doesn't have to pretend for anyone just how much it all doesn’t hurt._ _

__"Got a meeting with the label early tomorrow," he says, still not looking at Cal as he makes his way to the front door. "I'll give you a call next week, yeah?"_ _

__He's nearly there, he's got his hand on the doorknob, but just as he starts to open it Cal is there pushing it closed._ _

__"Harry, what's going on? Used to be I nearly had to drag you out of here and now you can't even stay for a couple of beers after business is done?" Cal sounds like all the things Harry knew he would, worried and caring, and Harry can feel his eyes starting to sting a bit. He really needs to get home._ _

__"I'm fine, I've just got things to do. I'll come over next week sometime. I'll bring that bottle of red you like." He pulls at the handle but Cal still hasn't moved so it doesn't do all that much._ _

__"I worry about you, you know? You've been quiet for a while now. You didn't come to Alexander's party, which was fine, but this isn't like you."_ _

__Harry almost laughs. The funny thing is, it really _is_ like him. He just normally hides it better than this. It's not like he hasn't had his heart played with before, but this feels different somehow. Maybe because he hadn't even realised he’d given it away before it was being handed back to him in pieces. _ _

__This is why all his songs have been depressing of late. Thank goodness no one gets to look in his lyrics book at the moment; he might have to burn the thing after this. Well, whenever he finally gets past it. If he does._ _

__"I'm fine, really. Now, are you going to let me go?" he asks, with the weakest attempt at a laugh. It sounds pathetic even to his own ears._ _

__Cal says nothing for a bit and Harry feels like there's a vise around his chest, his heart and lungs slowly being crushed, no room for air and blood._ _

__"Please, Cal. Let me go home," he whispers, barely able to get the sentence out he _hurts_ so much. _ _

__Cal lets out this long breath and his hand slides from its position on the door, only to press lightly on Harry's shoulder. The contact almost burns._ _

__"I'm here for you, kid. Anything you need, anytime. You just remember that, all right?"_ _

__Harry nods. His throat is closing up and he's finding it hard to breath without crying. He just wants to get _home_._ _

__Cal tightens his grip in a friendly manner but it's too much. Everything is too much at the moment. Harry has to force himself not to flinch and duck out of Cal's well-meaning grasp._ _

__Cal lets him go and Harry's out the door, trying not to run the last few steps to his car. He starts the thing with shaking hands and manages a wave toward the doorway where he knows Cal will be standing. He drives his Mustang halfway down the hill before he has to pull off, hands shaking, heart beating so fast he feels like it'll break out of his chest, or worse._ _

__He doesn't cry, though. He did that enough in the first two weeks after Liam went. Every time he found some little thing that Liam had left behind - a guitar pick, some clean sheet music, a pen he used once and blushed when Harry told him he'd basically pocketed it from a fan when he'd signed her napkin at the McDonald's drive-through - every stupid little insignificant thing had him collapsing inside and out._ _

__That was a week ago now and Harry was doing much better; at least he thought he was._ _

__He scrubs his hands over his face and up into his hair, dishevelling it more than it already was. He'll be fine. He'll get over this. He has every other time things have gone tits-up. Even if this feels different from all the times before. He'll get through it, he always does._ _

__: : :_ _

__The great thing about this life he's chosen, this musical career of his, is that occasionally it leaves very little time for sorrow. He finalises the songs on his record and has his tour dates scheduled for promo over the next three months. They're not anything that big. Smaller venues than he ever played with One Direction, but big enough that he's sure to get a buzz._ _

__They're starting the tour in England, because as much as he's lived in LA for a decade now, England will forever be home. He packs up a few things he'll need and it's a little like closing the book on his first nearly six months of being thirty and all that's happened in the house of late as he locks the door. Maybe he'll sell. Maybe he'll buy somewhere new and leave this house with its ghosts of relationships past._ _

__Probably not. If anything, Harry knows he's a nostalgic bastard at best and he loves a good wallow more than anyone._ _

__He rides his bike to the airport in the hot Californian sun. It's already slightly unbearable at five in the morning, even in July. He's reckless and doesn't wear his helmet, loving the feel of the wind on his face and in his hair. As much as London can be hot in summer, it's nothing like this so he tries to soak up all of this heat. He'll need to carry it with him over an ocean and back again, until the tour winds up on US soil._ _

__When he lands, it's straight to his little townhouse in Holland Park. Not many people know he owns property there, and it's remained empty for the past year except for when Harry stayed there a bit to write. He used to lease it out but it's good for when he wants a bit of anonymity. The cleaner's been in and Gemma stocked the cupboards with food a few days earlier. She'd wanted to pick him up and have him over to hers and Simon's for dinner, but Harry wasn't ready for that. Not yet._ _

__He sleeps for a day and half a night, lets himself get over the jet lag that makes his eyes hurt and his back ache. Lou calls when she hears he's back and she doesn't take no for an answer. She turns up on his door with scissors in hand and stories to tell of Lux and her many adventures in love at the tender age of twelve going on thirteen. It takes his mind off the tour and doing interviews and bloody Alan Carr later in the week._ _

__Grimmy calls and they go out for lunch, and he doesn't push when Harry tells him he's not ready to discuss LA. Grimmy's always been a great pal and Harry's reminded why he does miss living here at home. His proper friends are here, the ones who have known him since before his life blew up and became public property. And after, when it all settled down again and he was mostly _just_ Harry Styles, formerly of One Direction._ _

__It's still weird to think about him being formerly from something that was such a great part of his life. Any thoughts of the band, though, lead him back to Liam, and he can't have that._ _

__He throws himself into promo instead._ _

__He's charming on Chatty Man, he's chock full of banter on Nick's new nighttime TV thing that's waging war with Alan's for ratings. Harry's interview and a hilarious nod back to the Breakfast Shows Call or Delete edges Nick's show over Alan's by a few hundred votes - or whatever it is ratings are judged on. Harry's not entirely sure. Nick sent him a message loaded full of happy-looking emoji and the odd eggplant and prawn, so it must be good. He does the Brekky show from his bed with the bird who's doing it now, some lovely thing who he flirts with easily because he can't see her face, and she can't see how he's on his bed, cutting his toenails at the same time._ _

__The album gets a bit of buzz and the first single starts shooting up the charts after debuting at a healthy twenty-first place. He goes on X Factor and sings. Simon gives him a hug and _that's_ unexpected after he wasn't exactly friendly when the band broke up. Harry does everything and anything that his PR people tell him to over the next month. In the end it's worth it, when he gets the phone call one Sunday night to say the album's just come in at number one._ _

__A number one fucking album, and the first that he's made entirely on his own._ _

__Grimmy and the gang that are still around take him out that night. There's karaoke and champagne and dancing and laughs all round. Aimee and Ian turn up, having found a sitter for the dog and their baby girl. Daisy is in town and a few of Harry's mates he's made over the years pop by, too, and they basically take over this year’s answer for The Groucho Club. They're nearly thrown out at half three and Harry takes the opportunity to sneak off, heading home after pretending he needs a wee and ducking out the front instead._ _

__He toys with his phone the whole way home in the cab. His fingers hover over his contacts and he slides his finger back and forth between the Os and the Rs. Liam's right there. He could call. He could text. He could even tweet him if he wanted. Send a DM. The stupid thing about this - all of this luck he's had with this album and the song - the stupidest part of all is that he really wants to share it with Liam. He wants Liam to be the one he shouldn't have to hesitate to get in contact with, because Liam should be here for it all._ _

__All the buoyancy of the last few hours deflates and he leans his head against the window and watches the early morning shower pound against the glass. Even here, when everything is as good as it could possibly be, he still feels ridiculously alone._ _

__: : :_ _

__He's somewhere in Australia - he's not quite sure if it was Sydney they'd flown back to or Melbourne after the show in Perth - when he hears about Liam's album going platinum._ _

__His stuff is similar to Harry's but with a slightly more pop feel, which suits Liam to a T. It's Louis who sends Harry the link, this article in the _Daily Fail_ saying there's a bitter war raging between Harry and Liam and taking bets on who'll win out as the better "ex-boy-band member cum solo superstar" with album sales and number ones. Harry laughs, because they're not even in the same genre and his album's still going strong in the charts even if it's slipped back to number five now, but that's fine. It's been two months. He's releasing another song from the album when he gets back to LA after the last show in New Zealand. _ _

__As long as they're both successful. That's all that counts._ _

__Still, it hurts to see their faces so close together in a photo that was taken at Louis' wedding years and years before. They'd been drunk and happy and had proper smiles on their faces. It hurts to see something he thought he could have had. Something he perhaps thought they were working toward, just gone within a matter of a few words. Just a stupid boy in love with someone who could never love him back. Not in the way that Harry wants. In a way Harry craves to be loved._ _

__He doesn't see Liam's tweet until much later. The same article Louis' sent him is attached with the words, "Game on!"_ _

__If he drinks a bit more than he should, knowing he has an early flight and a show the next day, no one can blame him. Of course no one can. There's no one in this hotel room but Harry. No one else at all._ _

__: : :_ _

__He tweets Liam back at some point between finishing all the beer in the fridge and working on the little bottles of liquor._ _

__It's not much but a few menacing-looking emojis, but at least it's something._ _

__It's a start._ _

__: : :_ _

__"That you, Harry?" his mum's voice calls out possibly from the kitchen, by the depth of it._ _

__Harry shucks off his boots and pulls on the slippers his mum's left by the door. It's bloody freezing out and he's actually shaking snow out of his hair from the walk from his car to the front door._ _

__"Yes, Mum," he calls back. He takes off his jacket and has to blow on his icy cold fingers to warm them up a bit so he can get the buttons undone. He manages to get it on the hook and then she's right there, wrapping him up in a warm hug._ _

__"Snowing out?" she asks, tucking one of his curls behind his ear. It doesn't stay there, he had Lou cut his hair over the Christmas break and it hasn't grown all that much since. It's a lot shorter than he's used to but he decided after basically touring right up until December, and occasionally remembering to brush and wash it, that it probably wasn't worth saving the length in the long run. It's more wavy now than anything, sits about three or four inches from his skull but still curls around his ears. His mum says it makes him look too skinny and yeah, he did lose weight on tour (and before that), and she's done nothing but try and overfeed him since._ _

__"C'mon, then," she says, her voice soft and warm as she loops her arm through the crook of his. "Let's get you warm then while we wait for Gems and Simon. Robin's got the telly on and there's a roast and veg in the oven waiting for you."_ _

__"You didn't have to do that," he says, calling out to Robin as they pass the living room. His mum virtually steers him to the kitchen table and shoves him into the chair._ _

__"I know I didn't, but you're home and you're here and it was no trouble," she answers. Her head is already in the fridge as she gets him a drink. "Do you want water or wine or something else, Harry?"_ _

__"Milk, please, and you do know—"_ _

__She smiles, already pouring him a glass. "I know you can and again, let me spoil my little boy."_ _

__He really does love his mum. "Not so little now, Mum. Nearly thirty plus one."_ _

__She puts the glass in front of him, her happy face lined with a few more wrinkles and laughter lines than he remembers. "Tales of her life," she always tells him. It makes him wonder sometimes what stories his face tells, what parts of his life are right there on the surface to be seen. What he can’t hide under fake happiness after all._ _

__"Don't start talking like that, you'll make me feel old," she scolds, ruffling his hair and making Harry feel all of five years old._ _

__He grins up at her after taking a large drink of his milk, doesn't bother to wipe the white moustache from his upper lip._ _

__"There we go, that's the little boy I know," she laughs, heading toward the oven and pulling his plate from the warmer. Even from a distance he can see she's piled the thing too high. There's enough food on there to feed two, and Yorkshire puds to boot._ _

__Maybe it's not so bad coming home and being spoiled. There's the added bonus that Gemma's not here to steal his puddings. He must smirk enough about that that his mum chuckles and shakes her head, muttering how some things never change._ _

__He’s tucking in, leaving the puddings for last to soak up the sauce, when he hears the front door open and his sister’s voice sing out._ _

__"In here," his mum calls, standing at the kitchen bench where she's been since Harry started eating. She’s pretending to wipe down the wooden top but is mostly watching Harry like a hawk as he eats. He's probably lucky he skipped breakfast and forgot about lunch on the drive up, because he's managed to eat the lot._ _

__"If you hurry, you might have your brother’s last Yorky pud!"_ _

___"Mum!"_ _ _

__She chuckles, her nose scrunching up, as Harry tries to shovel the one he's eating and the last one in his plate into his mouth._ _

__"That's disgusting, little brother!" is what Gemma says. She steals the bigger piece from his plate and he just misses stabbing her hand with the fork just to keep it._ _

__She pops it into her mouth, her eyes glittering with mirth as Harry swallows, realising he probably should have chewed a bit more as it sticks in his throat._ _

__"I licked that," he says, grabbing at his milk and downing half the glass. He can't remember being this full in his life._ _

__She shrugs and walks around the bench to greet their mum, leaning into her one-armed hug. "But we're family so it doesn't count!"_ _

__He pokes out his tongue and leans back in the chair, rubbing at his noticeably larger tum. He's probably going to actually have to work out properly to get rid of this. Yoga isn't enough to get rid of this much meat and veg._ _

__It's because he's thinking about calling the band’s old trainer, Mark, and seeing if he can put Harry in touch with a PT here to tone things up that he misses what Gemma is telling his mum. He does fall off his chair, though, as the excited squealing starts._ _

__He lies there on the floor, rubbing at the back of his head and checking for lumps as they continue talking in tones so high-pitched that even Harry has trouble figuring out what they're talking about. And he's had _plenty_ of experience translating teenage girl scream-talk in his past._ _

__"Hello? Critically injured here," he grumps, because he really did hit his head hard and the fall has shifted things about in his belly. He gets up as they continue to ignore him and straightens the chair. He takes his plate to the sink and is abruptly pulled into the hugging and the bouncing, and his dinner really isn't sitting right._ _

__"Oh, darling, isn't it wonderful?" his mum says, her voice happy and wet, and he realises she's crying._ _

__He looks at Gemma with a curious brow but she's in the same condition, tears rolling down over where she's smiling so hard her cheeks must be sore._ _

__"You just better make sure you’re home in five months!"_ _

__Harry tilts his head to the side, looking back and forth between the two of them. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Is it possible he blacked out?_ _

__"There's talk of another tour next year if I can get the next album cut. I'm not sure—"_ _

__"Harry," Gemma says, taking his hand from around the small of her back and resting it low over her belly. "You’re not really going to miss the arrival of your first niece or nephew, are you?"_ _

__Oh._ _

__"Oh!" he says, blinking. Because, wow. "Oh, Gems!" he gets out, all wobbly as he pulls her tight into his arms. He can feel his mum rubbing at his back as he and Gemma hug and laugh and he's so bloody full with love._ _

__"That's bloody brilliant, that is! What does Simon think?" he asks once they've settled down enough to move back to the table, sitting around it like they used to do when Harry was young. His mum puts a bowl of cut-up fruit in the middle and they pick at it as Gemma tells them all her and Simon’s plans. They don't want to get married but they're going to buy a house, sell the little flat Harry helped her buy years before._ _

__Robin walks in and joins them, Simon too, and the hand-shaking and hugs and tears begin anew. Simon sits on Gemma's chair when she gets up to go to the loo, "Something I'm getting used to doing all the time," she whines. She sits on his lap when she returns and he rests their joined hands over what Harry can now tell is the beginning of a baby bump._ _

__They're so obviously happy and in love that it radiates from them both. He sees it echoed in his mum and Robin where they sit to the side, Robin’s arm wrapped around the back of his mum’s chair, rubbing softly at her shoulder. He's surrounded by it and he excuses himself in time to make it to his old room before completely falling apart._ _

__He knows a panic attack when he feels one. He knows how to hedge them off or slow them down, but this time he can't. It's January and in a few weeks he'll be another year older and what has he done? He gave his heart away again. Had it broken again, and spent nearly the rest of the time wallowing in self pity and moping about._ _

__The good of his album being recognised so popularly by fans old and new and the actual nice write-up _Rolling Stone_ gave him disappear from view. Gemma's happy news is nothing compared to this soul-crushing weight of loneliness he feels right now. If anything, it doubles it._ _

__It's Gemma who finds him, however, much later. She curls up around him in the bed and holds him close as he shakes and sobs and tries to get his breathing under control. She brushes his hair from his fprehead and whispers reassurances against his neck and tells him to let it go. Let it all go._ _

__He does. He tells her everything._ _

___Everything._ _ _

__He tells her about how he can't get rid of the ache in his chest that's been there for years now. This unending loneliness that has swallowed him up year after year until this last one. He tells her all about Liam. The good and the bad and how much it hurt to push Liam away when he thought it was better for himself in the long run. It hasn't actually felt anything like _better_ since he let Liam go._ _

__He feels so light, boneless even, when he's done and she's so, so quiet behind him. She strokes his hair as he cries softly this time, repeating, "It hurts, it just hurts," until he's hoarse. He must doze off, only waking when he feels her shift to get up._ _

__"Sorry," he says, grabbing at her hand before it shifts from his hip. "I didn't mean to put all of this on you. I'm really happy for you and Simon - the baby, too," he adds, because he is. Deep down he's bloody over the moon._ _

__It's a bubble of light in a space so dark it could be endless._ _

__"I know you are, Harry. My only wish is that you could find what I have yourself."_ _

__"Me, too," he says with a yawn, the events of the day leaving him worn out. "It's all I want."_ _

__: : :_ _

__Harry wakes up the next morning to his phone going haywire and the kind of headache that comes from crying your eyes out. He takes his phone to the bathroom with him. His eyes are too sore to do anything more than put it on the side of the sink before he takes a piss and wets his face with a warm washcloth. His mouth tastes horrid, so he brushes his teeth with one of the spare toothbrushes his mum keeps under the sink for the times when he kips there, too lazy to drive back home._ _

__He unlocks his phone with his free hand and heads straight to his messages, of which there are a ridiculous number. There are all these happy emoji faces and "CONGRATULATIONS" in shouty caps. There are missed phone calls, too, a rather large number for ten in the morning._ _

__He puts his voicemails on speaker and sets it on the edge of the sink while he checks out a spot in the middle of his forehead. He thought he was done with these things once he stopped having to wear makeup so much and started eating healthier all the time instead of only once in a while. Weren't these things supposed to be gone at his age? Maybe thirty-one would finally see the back of them._ _

__He's not paying all that much attention as the recorded voice goes on about how many new messages he has. He does, though, when he hears a familiar voice screaming down the line._ _

__"Fucking hell, mate! I'm so bloody proud of you! Give me a call when you can. I'm packing me bags now and I'll be over as soon as I can get a plane! Love you, bro," Niall ends, and Harry grins because even though he has no idea what Niall's talking about, it's been far too long since he's seen Niall._ _

__The next message starts and it's Louis' girls cheering before Louis interrupts. "Harold! Can't fucking believe it!"_ _

__"Daddy! You said a naughty word!"_ _

__"I'll give you a tenner if you don't tell your mum."_ _

__"Twenty and we'll say you made us breakfast instead of 'Donalds drive-through."_ _

__"Done. Anyway, get your bum up here and see us! I'll have everyone over, make a night of it. Not bad for t—" The recording cuts out and Harry's still no wiser to what the hell is going on._ _

__"Hi, Harry, give us a call when you get this. We have quite a lot to discuss. There's talk of you being asked to perform on the night, which would be huge. We'll also need to sort out who you’re taking, if you are going to take anyone, but that can come later. Once again, congratulations - a BRIT nom with your first album, we're all so proud of you here!" Linsey from his management team finishes, and Harry nearly chokes on the buildup of toothpaste in his mouth._ _

__He’s coughing so hard he doesn't hear the next message or the next. He's sitting on top of the toilet seat trying not to hyperventilate. He ends the call and hits Google for more information. He hits the first link and brings up the BRITS website and the official list of nominees. He nearly misses his name under British Male Solo Artist. Feels his stomach drop when he spots it, refreshing the page just to make sure it's not a joke._ _

__Fuck. _Fuck_. _ _

__This means so much. Even if he doesn't win, the fact that he's been bloody considered is massive. It feels just like the first time when he and the lads found out they'd been put up for one, right in the baby stages of One Direction. That first one was special and this . . . he knows this will be special, too. He scrolls down and looks at the other categories, noting a few names he knows and some he's a bit unaware of, which isn't surprising with how much he’s toured and had his head down in the past year and a bit more._ _

__He doesn't know how to feel when Liam's name doesn't come up. Harry knows his album did well, really well. He knows Liam's tour wasn't as big as his - definitely no extended dates like Harry had - but there were cases where tickets sold out. It feels strange having something big like this without the others, but especially Liam considering it was his sort of comeback after being quiet for a few years. He released stuff a year after the band had ended, all to popular acclaim. He'd not got another BRIT nod, though, and stupidly, selfishly, this made Harry a little bit happier._ _

__: : :_ _

__Harry lets Grimmy take him out for his birthday and they get absolutely slaughtered. It ends up being a bunch of them hitting a few different clubs and it's wonderful. It makes Harry forget about the past year and be determined to make this one count. It's even better when Niall arrives. The drinking is on for young and old, then, as Niall makes Harry match him nearly drink for drink until he pours Harry into a town car and gets them both home. Niall stays for a few days and they do nothing much but hang about Harry's townhouse in their pants and naught else, drinking beer, eating takeout, and generally doing fuck-all._ _

__It's the best break Harry's ever had._ _

__Niall eventually has to leave. He has responsibilities with the production company he's running, making film clips and directing short films back in Ireland. Harry waves him off at the airport with a promise that he can film Harry's next single._ _

__The house is quiet again when he gets back, but it isn't as empty as the LA house felt before. Maybe Harry's finally at peace with being on his own. Maybe he's over Liam and all that they could have been but weren't._ _

__Maybe he convinces himself of that until he wakes up a few days out from the awards and sees that Liam's second single was nominated for a British Video Award, which means he'll be attending at the same time Harry is._ _

__: : :_ _

__It's comical how he sees Liam next._ _

__He's coming out of Sony's after party when he walks straight into someone. The lights flashing in his face from the sheer wall of paps out front are a tad blinding, and he hasn't been all that steady on his feet what with all the champagne flowing inside._ _

__"Sorry, mate," he says, gripping the shoulder of the male in front of him and blinking back the coloured spots in his eyes, trying to see straight. "You'd think after years of this I'd be used to it, but—" He laughs and makes out what names the paps are calling behind him._ _

__"You never really get used to it," Liam answers, and Harry feels himself freeze up for the tiniest of seconds before remembering where he is._ _

__There are twenty or so of London's so-called "finest photojournalists," security that's both his and Liam's, and those of the event and possibly that bird that won X Factor this year by the sound of it. In other words, he's somewhere too public to move on or snub Liam like Liam's done to him in the past six months or more apart from that one tweet. It'll be noticed and he'll have to talk about it in the press, and he doesn't want to do that._ _

__"Hi," he says instead of all the other things he could, and he drags Liam into a one-armed hug that Liam returns. It feels stilted, not close and comfortable like before. Before everything turned tits-up between them._ _

__"It's good to see you," Liam whispers at his ear, and Harry smiles big for the cameras when Liam lets him go._ _

__"You, too," Harry says, and Byron's at his arm - his security while he's in London and doing press and things at the moment - tapping lightly._ _

__"Harry, we're creating a bit of a lineup here," he says, and he's right. Someone behind them is trying to get out and the X Factor bird is eventually going to stop posing and want to come up the stairs._ _

__This is probably the best way to make a clean break, really. No awkward conversation or anything like it, like there probably would have been if they'd met inside. No reason to go back in if he was already leaving. He can head home now and wallow in the awards aftermath._ _

__"Yeah, right. I should—" He nods at the car that's still waiting for him, and Liam's smile falls slightly._ _

__"Sure," he says, shaking his head and taking a step toward away from Harry and toward the party._ _

__"Okay," Harry says, being nudged a little by Byron. "Bye."_ _

__Liam does this little wave thing and then he turns and heads in and Harry follows Byron to the car, plastering a smile on his face._ _

__As first meetings go with someone that is sort of your ex, even if you never had a definition of what you were or what you were doing, Harry doesn't think it went all that badly._ _

__Still doesn't stop him from thinking about it all the way back home._ _

__: : :_ _

__"Did you bloody forget your phone again, Byron?" Harry opens the door with a laugh. He's been using Byron for years now and he always forgets something once he gets Harry home and settled._ _

__His laughter dies in his throat, though, when he sees a clearly dishevelled Liam standing there with his tie hanging loose and the top two buttons of his shirt undone._ _

__"Hi," Liam says with a sheepish smile. He runs one hand through his hair, more close-cropped than it was when he and Harry were together in LA._ _

__Harry blinks and, no, Liam's definitely still there, shifting his weight from foot to foot on Harry's front step._ _

__"Hi?"_ _

__Liam laughs a little, this tittering sound, and he's nervous. Harry can see that. "I just - I haven't seen you in a while and then it was only for a minute tonight, and—" he blows out this deep breath— "I was thinking maybe we could talk?"_ _

__"Talk," Harry says, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms. He feels on edge just from having Liam standing here. Like all the hair on his body is standing straight up on end._ _

__"Yes, I thought maybe we could do that?" Liam blinks those big brown eyes at Harry and Harry finds himself shoving off the door. He turns and walks into the house with a "C'mon, then," before he can think about it too much._ _

__He's tired and he's still a little drunk on the shots of vodka he had with Byron before he left. Well, he drank three to Byron's one. He was "still being paid, after all." Harry tended to forget that; he always surrounded himself with people who felt like friends, even if they were being paid from his account._ _

__Harry listens as Liam follows him up the stairs to the main living area of the house. The way they left things in LA hangs between them, and the awkward moment at the after party sticks out, too. Harry doesn't know what Liam wants to talk about, but he's here and it means something. It has to. Otherwise why would he drop by at three in the morning?_ _

__"I was making some breakfast, if you want?" Harry says. He goes back to the stove where he already had the ingredients out for a bacon sarnie._ _

__"Is there enough? I, um, is that Byron fellow—" Liam stumbles, somewhere behind Harry, probably in the doorway to the galley kitchen. It's not all that spacious in the townhouse, but Harry's never here long enough to really mind._ _

__Now, though, he feels sort of caged in._ _

__"Byron's my security, Li," he answers, turning on the hob. "He's headed home, but I did try and get him to stay for one, so yes, there's enough."_ _

__"Oh," Liam says a little quickly, a little relief in his tone. "Well, I'd love one, actually."_ _

__Harry flicks his eyes to the side as he puts the pan on, letting it heat up before he adds some grease. Liam's got his hands in his pockets, his jacket tucked behind them and something a little like a smile on his face as he stares down._ _

__They're quiet as the bacon sizzles. They still say nothing as Harry gets it all crispy and lovely out of the pan, or while he fries the bread. He doesn't ask Liam before smothering the bacon in brown sauce, squashing the sarnie down a bit so it all sticks. When he turns, plate in hand, Liam's still looking at the floor._ _

__"Are my tiles that interesting, Liam?" he says with a cough, clearing his throat. Liam's right here, in his kitchen, and yet it feels like they're miles apart._ _

__Liam's head snaps up. "Sorry. No. I mean, they're lovely." Liam shakes his head a bit and finally raises his eyes to meet Harry's own. He looks a little sad for a moment but it's gone when Harry holds the plate out and Liam takes it with soft thanks._ _

__"Table’s through there," Harry says, nodding to the left. He can feel his cheeks heating up from being so close to Liam, close enough to smell his aftershave and the scotch he was probably drinking earlier on his breath._ _

__"Right." Liam blinks a bit, then turns around and walks through the door into the living room where the dining table is._ _

__They sit and eat and there's still this bubble of silence and an air of awkwardness surrounding them._ _

__"Congrats on your award," Harry says, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand._ _

__Liam grins, soft and one-sided, his brown eyes saying more than his lack of speech does. "Ta. Shame about yours, though. Didn't really think that bloke who won was all that good, to be honest."_ _

__Harry shrugs. "Yeah, well, pleasure to be nominated and all that."_ _

__"Would have been nice, though," Liam says. He pushes back his chair a bit. His plate is as empty as Harry's. "Both of us getting a nod is nice, but sticking it to them all with a double would have been fun."_ _

__Harry nods, because it would have. They've all had their fair share of critiques since the band ended. Liam more than anyone, releasing his solo album first in the year between them ending and doing something new that they'd all decided on. Liam had gone on to win a BRIT for his second release, so that sort of shut them up a bit. A couple of MTV Moon Men and a nod from the Emmys for a song he wrote with Louis for a TV documentary Morgan had made had them singing his praises after that._ _

__They'd all done fairly well for themselves since. Zayn had gone to Uni and worked on getting his degree in arts and English. He hadn't used the teaching part of it yet, happy to lark about making art and selling it through a gallery he ran close to home. Louis had taken fatherhood in his stride and done more at the Rovers than before, finally getting past the red tape and being able to co-run the place like he'd tried years before. Niall was off producing and songwriting, getting bands together or pushing up those that were slightly underground. He’d still been single up until a year ago, when he met his Katie, and last time he was in town for Harry's birthday he'd shown him a ring so it was only a matter of time._ _

__Harry was the only one who'd waited. He'd stretched his legs and tried out a few different things. He still wrote songs, had hits and misses with critiques on their sappy sound, but he always wrote from the heart so he ignored much of what was said. He dabbled a bit in fashion, produced a line with Zayn's help and Alexa's contacts, which was fun. He did a bit of TV for E News and met a few more stars he was in awe of. He opened a restaurant with Jeff and judged on The Voice in America for two seasons. He travelled, became an ambassador for LGBQT rights, and worked a lot with his charities because he had always liked giving something back._ _

__The album was a long time in the making, only made when he finally felt he had something to sing about. Some proper life experience to create a mood and a sound that people could relate to more than the slightly manufactured sound they'd had when he was young._ _

__"Yeah. Would have been nice," he answers, giving Liam a proper smile. "You in town for long, then?"_ _

__Liam pushes a bit of crust around the mess of sauce and grease on his plate and pops it in his mouth. "Tonight, really. Back off to Paris day after tomorrow . . . or today, as it is. Added a few dates to the tour after the award made a bit of a buzz."_ _

__"That's great, mate," Harry says honestly, a little relieved almost that Liam won't be in town long. Harry's made tentative plans to start putting a few songs down; he's made a few calls for musicians to work with and was glad to find Dan is still around and Sandy, too. At least he won't have to worry about running into Liam again while he's here._ _

__"You doing anything while you're here?" Liam asks, eyes on his plate, chewing a bit on the side of his bottom lip. Harry had forgotten how lovely Liam is to look at. How the very normal and mundane is a pleasure to watch because it’s Liam and he makes everything interesting._ _

__Just having Liam here and so close is opening Harry up to all the things he's worked hard to shut off and board up when Liam left. It wasn't fair. Harry'd worked too bloody hard to get over him just to have Liam here now and still so out of reach._ _

__"A bit of recording, maybe. Nothing concrete."_ _

__"Need any help with writing or such?" Liam says, and his face flushes pink with the look Harry must be giving him._ _

__"Or not. I mean - just . . . ." He sighs and runs his hand over his hair and down his face. "This used to be a lot easier," he says, moving his hand back and forth between them. "This never used to be hard."_ _

__"No," Harry answers softly. His chest feels tight again and emotion is building in his throat, making it tight. "Things change, though."_ _

__It's getting hard to swallow. Liam looks so lovely in the warm lights from above and it makes Harry's heart ache for things he thought were possible but should have known were not. Liam's been here long enough. There's only so much polite banter Harry can take from someone who, in his heart of hearts, he knows he's still in love with. Even he can admit that to himself._ _

__"Yeah," Liam says, and he sounds sad. Harry's had enough. He can't sit here and be normal and not talk about the bloody great big relationship-that-never-was elephant in the room._ _

__"Okay," Harry says, when he can find his voice. "All right," he finds himself saying as he gets up. He grabs Liam's plate and his own and heads to the kitchen._ _

__He’s rinsing the last dish and putting it in the strainer when Liam comes up behind him and nuzzles his nose into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry's breath freezes in his chest. "I'm sorry," Liam whispers, his hands on Harry’s hips, sliding around to his front. "I'm so sorry," he says softly again, his lips grazing over Harry's jaw._ _

__Harry shudders out a gasp and turns his head into Liam's touch. He's melting into Liam's embrace and it shouldn't be this easy, but it is. It is. It's Liam being here and it's how much Harry still feels down in the depths of him that he’s tried so hard to ignore. He bites at the inside of his cheek as Liam's grip tightens, holding Harry close against him._ _

__Liam whimpers Harry's name as he lays one hand on top of Liam's, the other coming up to his side, fingertips threading into Liam's short hair. "I missed you so fucking _much_ ," Liam says, his lips a heated press to Harry's neck, right above where his pulse is thundering under thin skin. _ _

__That’s what finally breaks Harry’s control - the way Liam's face is buried in his shoulder, the way his body shudders against Harry’s back when he breathes in deep. Harry turns in his arms and then they’re kissing, and everything else disappears._ _

__A thousand thoughts run through his head about why Liam's telling him this now. What difference has all this time made that he couldn't have tried telling this to Harry before? Want silences them, though, need makes them disappear as Harry tilts Liam's head to deepen their kiss. Liam's tongue is a hot, wet slide against his own and it's everything he remembers and tried so hard to forget. Liam's hand slides down to the small of Harry's back, flirting with going lower still. It has Harry moaning into their kiss, pulling Liam in as he fists his hand in the once-crisp white shirt Liam's wearing under his jacket._ _

__"Harry - Harry, can we?" Liam asks, stuttering against the hollow of Harry's throat. Harry keeps his eyes closed, nods, swallowing hard. He turns them and begins to walk backward, out of the kitchen._ _

__"Yeah," he answers. "Yes."_ _

__: : :_ _

__They fall into bed, murmuring “I missed you” and "need you so much."_ _

__They fall into bed because it’s what they do. It's easier than anything else._ _

__: : :_ _

__They don't really make it out of Harry's bed the next day._ _

__They don't really talk, either. Not about anything important. Not about why Liam came or what they're doing or whether anything at all has changed since Liam left Harry in LA with a broken heart._ _

__Maybe he worships Liam's body a little more. Maybe he holds him a little tighter because he thought he'd never be able to do this again. He still might not. He's not sure if anything's really changed. Liam may be here and he may be in Harry's bed, sucking his cock, but that's not anything new, is it? They eat a little and nap a lot. Harry doesn't look at his clock and Liam doesn't either, so the time they have together isn't being kept track of all that much._ _

__Harry knows there's a limit, though. He knows that Liam has to leave because he has a job and Harry has one, too. He knows they aren't saying anything because it's easier. At least that's why he's keeping his mouth shut._ _

__The next morning is a lot more subdued, and at the same time it's not. They're quiet while Harry makes breakfast, a full English fry-up, like the more food they have to eat the longer Liam'll have to stay to finish it all off. They wash the dishes side by side, Harry's hands deep in the suds and Liam drying up. He takes Harry's hand after, threads their fingers together and looks like he's going to say something. His dark coffee gaze looks so determined as he licks over the rose of his lips, making them shine in the morning light. Harry steels himself for whatever it is. He can bounce back, he's done it before. He'll do it again, whatever the outcome._ _

__Liam breathes in and holds it and Harry can't say he remembers to breathe himself. Liam cups Harry's cheek with his free hand, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together before moving back and letting go. Harry feels the heat of his touch long after Liam starts to walk away, dragging Harry along._ _

__He follows Liam slowly, lets Liam tug his underwear off and shrug the robe from his shoulders when they get to the bathroom. Pretends it doesn't hurt when Liam doesn't catch his eye the whole time. He stands there, feet turned in as Liam turns the shower on. He watches as Liam tests the water and then turns and grabs at Harry's hand and pulls him in under the water._ _

__There's this feeling, this blooming of something in his chest that flows through his veins as Liam soaps him up. He washes Harry so carefully, so tenderly, turning him this way and that as he rubs his hands together to make suds with Harry's ridiculously expensive body wash. It smells nice, though, like the beach at Malibu where he goes sometimes. Reminds him of what they had a year ago._ _

__He lets Liam wash him and Liam lets him return the favour. They don't kiss. They don't talk. Liam takes them both in hand when Harry's done soaping up his cock. They were both half hard anyway; Harry's been like that himself since Liam arrived at his front door a day ago._ _

__Just a day. A single day but it feels like a lot more._ _

__Liam rests his cheek against Harry's as he looks down, and Harry counts the water drops that hang from his dark lashes. He clings to Liam's broad shoulders as Liam fists them both at a pace that is both maddeningly slow and perfect in the same touch. He feels like he could cry, his eyes sting but he pretends that it's just some errant soap. This feels like a goodbye and Harry knows it has to be, that today is the day Liam flies out and Harry stays behind, but he doesn't want it to end yet. He knows they have to talk, _will > talk after this, because Harry can't let them end like this. They can't both walk away with nothing said.__ _

___Harry just _can't.__ _ _

___His whole body tingles as Liam speeds up his touch. He tightens his fist a little, gets them both in a better grip. Harry feels so close already as their foreskins catch and shift and _god_ , he wants Liam so much. He wants him more than just now, he wants him for a forever. The thought doesn't frighten him as much as he thought something like that would. Something more than just getting off with Liam and sharing a space that’s more than just Harry's home is something he really _wants.__ _ _

___He turns his head, mouths at Liam's jaw and bites a little harder than he should at the juncture of Liam's neck and shoulder when he comes, suddenly, his whole body stiffening up. Liam's not long after; his grunts echo off the shower walls as he covers his hand and their cocks in come. Harry shudders in Liam's arms as he finally catches his eye after watching Liam still sliding their pricks together, even though it feels like too much. It's a second, just a second of them looking at each other, and he can't read anything in Liam's stare before Liam's got Harry's back against the wall and is kissing him like the world is ending._ _ _

___Maybe it is._ _ _

___Liam steps out, and with three soft kisses to Harry’s lips he leaves Harry to clean himself off again._ _ _

___Harry takes his time rinsing off. The high of getting off fades with each step that Liam takes away from him, knowing that each step will be further than the last. Harry dries off with the only clean towel left and makes an effort with his hair and brushing his teeth._ _ _

___He pretends he doesn't see that the toothbrush he gave to Liam is still in the bin. Pretends he doesn't see Liam's towel in the corner, sodden and ready to go in the wash._ _ _

___Liam's not in the bedroom when Harry gets dressed. Liam's clothes that he hasn't worn since Harry stripped them off are missing from where Harry had folded them on the chair near the window that overlooks the street. Harry’s heart feels more and more hollow as he pulls up the sheets on the bed, dreading the goodbye he's going to have to make when he leaves the room._ _ _

___Liam's not in the living room, though, when Harry heads out. He's not in the kitchen or out on the rooftop terrace, either._ _ _

___Liam's gone._ _ _

___: : :_ _ _

___Harry doesn't hide this time. He doesn't wallow in what-ifs and whys or let himself be swallowed up in hurt._ _ _

___He rings Grimmy and arranges to meet up with him and Billy for brunch. It's almost as if he puts what happened with Liam in another box, marks it "forget about it," and leaves it at that. He still feels numb, but it's different this time. This time it's a little easier to put on the mask he wears for everyone else. If Liam wants to leave it like this, leave _them_ like this, then Harry can deal with that. He can learn to cope with just being someone for Liam to get off with._ _ _

___He won't fall for it again, though. He won't._ _ _

___He gets to the caf on Hampstead Lane early, orders a coffee and gets himself a seat in a bit that's more blocked off where he shouldn't have to worry about being seen all that much. He looks up when he hears little girls’ laughter, reminding himself that he promised El and Lou and their two that he'd visit soon. Maybe it's time he does. Louis is hard to judge, though; he's always been the closest with Liam, and though he hasn't said anything to Harry he probably knows what's been going on. Or what was._ _ _

___There's a man to his left reading the _Daily Mail_ , and something about the pictures captures Harry's eye. He swears he sees Liam's name in writing, so when the man departs and leaves the paper folded on the table beside his plate and mug, Harry makes a grab for it. _ _ _

___It doesn't take him too long to find it. The pictures are grainy at best, but Harry can still make out Liam and Sophia. They're hugging in front of what looks like Liam's old home. The one he shared with Sophia. The one she obviously didn't move out of._ _ _

___Harry ignores that the write-up hints at them making a reconciliation. He ignores the mention of wedding bells once more ringing out in Wolverhampton town._ _ _

___He can't stop looking at where Sophia’s hand is on the back of Liam's shoulder. The left one. The one where her ring still glints in whatever sun was shining._ _ _

___He can't stop the tears in his eyes this time. Can't stop the absolute devastation he feels from the pictures and the article and how Liam left him. Left him and didn't say anything - but this, this says plenty on its own._ _ _

___Liam never wanted him. He never meant half as much to Liam as Liam did to Harry. Harry was a stop-gap. That was all._ _ _

___He throws money down for his coffee and messages to Grim that something’s come up as he heads back to his car._ _ _

___He's on the first plane he can get out to LA, barely taking time to pack a bag before he goes._ _ _

___When he's sitting in the VIP lounge nursing a vodka tonic and Liam's name comes up on his phone, he doesn't answer._ _ _

___He blocks the number and switches his phone off._ _ _

___He finishes his drink and orders another. Harry doesn't want to _think_ anymore._ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

It's so quiet. It's always so quiet here.

He's been at Nick's holiday home for a week now, this out of the way place where no one would ever expect him to be staying. It's lost amongst the rocky hills up from the coast in Ibiza. Nick and Billy bought it a few years back; Nick always had fond memories of the place from his huge two-week birthday bash when he turned thirty. It's a bit off the beaten track, a windy road into the hills out of the way of tourist areas, which means Harry's virtually hidden from the world. It's bloody huge for just one - three bedrooms, three baths, and a pool they had put in the year before.

He picked the keys up from Grimmy not long after cancelling brunch. Harry left his phone and laptop behind with him and headed out. It’s easy to hide here. No one would suspect Harry Styles to be staying on a bloody Mediterranean island in the off season. It's nice, though, the quiet. 

He lazes by the pool for the first few days, just taking in the ridiculous amount of sun in February. Lies about doing naught but eating the fruit he picked up on the way in and drinking ridiculous amounts of smoothies and water. He tries to tell himself he's in good need of a body cleanse, but mostly it's because he's just too lazy to cook anything. 

Day four finds him bored. 

Bored and it's actually overcast, which means his mood’s turned south and introspection hits hard. He picks up a guitar that someone’s left behind - neither Billy nor Nick are musically inclined enough to play - and starts fiddling with chords. It's not much, but he finds a nice sound after a bit. He stokes the fire in the living room and stares out the large arched windows, trying to make heads or tails of this sound. Lightning cracks across the sky, makes the water down below look fierce for a moment, and lyrics start to flow like the rain outside.

He writes for hours. Song after song about loving someone who can never be what you need, about heartbreak and loneliness. He writes about moving on even if you'll never be ready, and about filling the space in your heart with other things instead. He writes until the sun comes up the next morning and he naps for a bit and then writes again. He ends up going into town and taking over one of the restaurant’s pianos because he just _needs_ to hear it on a bigger sound. He buys another laptop, in the most horrid broken Spanish he can manage, and has some simple recording stuff shipped in. 

A week turns into another and another and it's a month, and he has at least ten songs he absolutely loves and a further fifteen he's put aside to work on when he gets back. He's already got a list in mind of people he wants to send things to, people he knows will get what he's trying to say and will only add to it or help make it work. 

He spends his last night on the island celebrating with this older couple who run a small restaurant whose piano he used. They're British ex-pats and ever so lovely. The woman makes him a trifle for dessert, even though it's not on the menu. He falls into the four-poster bed with all this bloody white netting around it just after midnight with a smile on his lips, feeling lighter than he has done in a long while. He'd forgotten how cathartic it was, writing his heart out. There's something about writing out his deepest feelings, finding sounds that fit the mood, that lifts some of the weight of keeping it all inside. It's the only form of therapy he's ever been good at, and he has tried a few. It's sort of the done thing once you move onto Los Angeles soil.

He doesn't hide who he is at the airport. He doesn't really care who knows where he's been; hiding out for the past month has done its job now. There's not a pap in sight anyway as he sits and waits to board his flight, and he relishes the quiet of anonymity for what is sure to be a short while, as there's always a pack waiting at Heathrow. Always someone he has to smile for.

At least now - with his laptop full of music and ideas flowing fast in his mind - he'll have something to smile about.

: : :

That lasts all of two seconds when he gets through to where he's arranged for a car and Byron to meet him on the other side.

The wall of paps are pushy and shouting his name and a bunch of stuff he can't make out, they're so loud. Byron gets him in the car with little fuss, and they're off out. The paps are being a bit ridiculous behind them, but Byron's driving and Harry knows they'll be free soon enough. 

"What's that all about?" Harry asks, taking a sip of water. He grabs his phone from the bloody Tesco's bag Nick's put his stuff in that Byron picked up on the way to the airport.

Byron turns the corner a bit sharply and checks the rearview mirror before answering. "No idea, mate. Been off with some pop star bird on a short European promo thing for the last three weeks. Bloody Russia'll freeze your balls off, it's that cold." 

Harry chuckles and turns his phone on, setting it to the side while it lights up with notifications that he's missed while he's been away. It starts ringing seconds later and he see's Louis' girls’ faces, poking out their tongues. He never did get around to visiting when he was last here. Probably best not to ignore Louis now. 

He doesn't even get to say hello before Louis is ranting down the line.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been? Do you realise what a shitstorm we've had here - and who doesn't bloody take their phone on holiday? What type of utter twat does that?"

Harry listens as Louis waxes on about the need in this day and age to have some sort of ability to communicate with the outside world when buggering off to god knows where for a month. He sits patiently as Louis continues, waits for him to run out of breath or steam, whatever comes first.

"Look, I have to pick the girls up now, they're coming out the gate, but we will talk about this more later. Just don't go bloody disappearing off the continent within the next half hour."

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes as Byron curses up a storm, trying to merge onto the M4. "I'll try very hard not to."

"Good, now - oh, hello, little darlings! Had a good day? No, mummy's busy, remember, so you've got me, I'm afraid. Who wants to go out for dinner?" A chorus of yays and then Louis is back. Harry is just able to make out the girls’ chatter in the background.

"I'll let you go, Louis. You sound busy and I need to pick up some stuff before I go home—"

"No!" Louis interrupts with a shout. Harry isn't sure if it's aimed at him or Edith and Alice. "No, Haz, that's a really bad idea. Come here. El's on this team-building thing in Suffolk so it's just me and the girls."

"Is that Uncle Harry, Daddy? Can he come and play with my Barbies, please?" Edith calls, and Alice echoes something about her watching her show first when they get home.

It sounds busy and happy and like a home should.

"Of course I can," Harry says, thinking how much better Louis' noisy house will be compared to the empty quiet of his own. "I'd love to."

"Smashing! Pick up Chinese for us on your way, will you? I'll get these two bathed and fed, ready to greet you when you get in."

Louis sounds genuinely happy, if not a little relieved - probably because even with the girls being six and seven he still isn't used to looking after them on his own. 

"See you soon, then."

: : :

It takes roughly three hours to get to Louis’ place just outside of Doncaster. He and El returned there before the girls were born and right after Louis finally got his name up for the Rovers. It's nearing half six by the time Harry gets in and he knows that the girls’ bedtime on a normal night is seven, so it'll be he and Louis eating later, then. 

He gets Byron to pull into a little off-license that doesn't look busy, judging by the lack of cars out front. 

"Just be a minute," he tells Byron, who nods, busy texting on his phone to let his wife know he'll be a bit later than planned. 

It's brisk out and Harry wishes he had kept his jacket on instead of leaving it in the car. He stuffs his hands under his arms and runs to the door, ducks inside with a "Ta very much" to this bird who’s walking out. He wanders down the aisles until he finds that Pinot Grigio that Louis likes and grabs six bottles. There's a fellow reading something thick and with very small writing manning the counter. Harry loads the bottles up on top. 

"Plannin' a party, mate?" the lad asks, not looking up as he skims the last few lines, using his finger to keep the place. 

"Not as such," Harry answers, diving into his back pocket for his wallet. "Meeting up with an old friend. We'll probably only drink two tops, but my mother always said it was nice to bring a gift, even if you might drink it later."

The lad turns the top corner of the page he was on and closes the book as he scans Harry's bottles. "Good advice," he answers with a nod. He looks up after fiddling with the computer and ringing Harry up. "That'll be . . . fuck me, you’re Harry Styles!" he exclaims, his eyes so wide the piercings he has in each brow look like they might actually pop out. 

Harry grins and nods. It's not the strangest place for him to be recognised and he had to expect it really, what with being away so long. 

"I fucking loved your album, mate! Bought me mum and my sisters a copy. Shame my car’s in the shop or I'd get you to sign mine. Always playing it." 

Harry is used to getting attention from an eclectic bunch of people, but this lad with his piercings and huge white gauges in his ears that look like you could fit a small cup in them isn't exactly who he expects to love his stuff.

"Loved you in 1D, too. Missed the last show, though, which was a bit shit. You back in town to see Louis, then?" he asks, looking genuinely interested as he puts Harry's bottles into an old box from behind the counter.

Harry fiddles with his credit card, turning it over in his hand. "Tonight, yeah. Just got back in from Ibiza. Bloody knackered actually," he says in what he hopes is a nice roundabout way of saying he doesn't want to chat long.

The guy nods and pushes the machine toward Harry so he can swipe his card. "Haven't been there yet. Few of us heading over this summer hols."

"You'll love it," Harry says, taking his card and receipt. "Thanks. You got a pen, mate? I'll sign something if you like." Harry flashes his public grin, the one with his dimples, figuring it's the least he can do. This fellow’s been awfully nice. 

"Wow, thanks Harry, that's tops!" he says. He flips his book open and scrabbles around under the counter for a pen that Harry eventually points out is poking through the topknot of green and blue hair on his head. 

Harry signs his name and a little thank you with well wishes under the title, which happens to be a _Complete Works Of William Shakespeare_. He pushes the book back over with the pen and tucks the box under his arm after throwing his wallet in. 

They make their goodbyes as another fellow comes around the counter to hold the door for Harry. All in all, that was one of the better encounters with a fan Harry's had over the years. He's got the boot open and is putting the box in on the floor when the lad calls out from behind him. 

"Say thanks to Liam for me, will you? Tell him me and my family are dead proud of what he said on the telly! Hope you patch things up!"

Harry smiles back at him and shoots him a thumbs up as he jumps in the back and shuts the door. 

The guy waves him off and Harry wonders what on earth that was about as Byron drives them on. 

: : :

Harry waves Byron and his wife off, having given them a bottle of wine for her trouble if coming out to Doncaster instead of Harry's townhouse to pick her husband up. Harry locks the Rover once they're gone, bag of Chinese on one arm and the box of bottles in the other. When he gets to the door he can hear squeals, which means the girls are still up. Harry barely gets his hand near the doorknob before the thing flies open and he has Edith and Alice bouncing around him, talking ninety to the dozen.

Louis looks on from the hall, looking all soft in his joggers and an old Iron Man t-shirt that's definitely seen better days. It makes Harry feel overdressed for this make-do slumber party in his black skinnies and vintage CK jumper. Louis’ shirt even has holes in it. 

"All right, you lot, Uncle Haz has got his arms full. Why don't you go back inside and set the table?" Louis says, pinning his daughters down with a hand on each of their shoulders. They roll their eyes in sync, looking so much like their dad that Harry has to stifle a laugh. He must not be very good at it if Louis' fond but exasperated stare is anything to go by. 

"In. Now."

The girls moan a bit but turn back in. Louis takes the plastic bag from Harry's fingertips and nudges at Harry's shoulder with his own. "Hiya, mate."

"Hiya, Lou," Harry answers, following the girls’ voices inside. He listens as Louis closes the door behind them and directs Harry down the hall to the right. 

"I think I remember where your kitchen is, Louis," Harry says, hitching the box up a bit in his arms. 

He loves Louis and Eleanor's place. There are so many photographs everywhere. From Louis and El's own little family to Louis’ sisters, his mum’s wedding, Eleanor's grandparents, and the band. The girls’ first paintings they brought home from nursery is framed on the walls beside art that Harry knows is worth a few thousand pounds, some of it Zayn's, others he only recognises because Louis would send out mass emails for opinions on whether it was worth investing in or not.

The other thing he loves is how it rarely changes. The same dining table they bought when they married is set with flowers that Harry recognises as Eleanor's favourites in a crystal vase he knows Niall bought them on a trip to Italy he took when he was dating this bird a few years back that he thought was "the one." The hot pink and purple plate sets the girls have put out with matching forks and plastic cups are new, but expected in a house where Louis and the family dog, Pepper, are the only males around.

They get settled with the food, sharing out the rice and meat dishes, and for a moment Harry's reminded of how they spent the first night in their shared house together doing just this. Well, with paper plates and on a coffee table that cost more than either of them had ever earned in their life at that stage. He catches Louis’ eye after he gives each of the girls a spring roll, giving in to Alice's pout about still being " _so_ hungry" and how "our dinner was such a _long_ time ago" that her sister throws on top.

"I can see you over there," Louis says, dipping Alice's spring roll into the little pile of sweet chilli he has on the side of his plate. "What's got you looking all fond?"

Harry shrugs. "Nothing really, just thinking about how not much has changed with your dinner habits since we lived together, that's all."

"When did you live with my daddy, Uncle Harry? Was Mummy there, too?"

"Sometimes," Harry answers honestly. 

He still doesn't like to think back on those days often. The way he felt about Louis could have been seen from space, and how Louis acted in return made hiding it from the public all the harder. It all stopped, though - the kissing and the touching, being on the verge of something more - once the band really looked like it would take off. Louis decided to stick with Eleanor and Harry had to make do with being quiet about how he felt about anyone, especially if they were male. 

They were good together, though, El and Louis. She quieted his loud, crazy side and settled him when the world they’d lived in became too much. It took Harry a while to see that, but it always takes a while to fix a broken heart, and Louis had been the first to smash Harry's apart.

"Mostly it was me and your uncles, Niall and Zayn and Liam," Louis says, looking at Harry with this soft expression that Harry knows means he was thinking back to where Harry had been seconds before. Harry wondered, sometimes, in the very dead of night, what would have happened if the band had petered out earlier. Would it have been him and Louis who shared this family now? 

Then he remembers how awful things with him and Louis got when Harry virtually broke up the band. Maybe it's better the way things are.

"Oh," Edith says, blue eyes sparkling wide as her sister yawns. "The Uncle Liam who was on the telly while you shouted a lot on the phone the other day?"

Louis shifts in his seat, looking a little nervous. "I think it's time for both of you to go to bed," he says with a clap. He stands up and clears their plates off, even though neither of them is finished.

Harry kind of laments the loss of his chow mein, but he's more intrigued by what Edith was saying and Louis' reaction than worrying about his stomach. He doesn't get to say anything for a little while, though. The girls drag him off to their room while Louis _has_ to get the dishes done straight away. Harry's known him to leave dishes in the sink for three weeks before throwing them in the bin rather than wash them, so he knows Louis is stalling. Still, it's nice to lie down on the bed with Alice on one side and Edith on the other as he reads them four chapters of _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ before he realises they're sound asleep. 

He finds Louis in the living room, pouring them wine while Sky Sports plays softly in the background. He takes a deep breath, not really understanding why Louis was so keen for Harry not to head back to his house, or what the bloke at the off-license meant about patching things up with Liam and being proud of what Liam had said.

"All right," he says, picking up his glass and taking a healthy sip. "What's going on?"

Louis finishes off most of his glass before he answers, leaving Harry feeling more worried than before.

"Right," Louis says finally. He perches on the edge of his seat and puts his glass on the coffee table, filling it again as he continues. "So I know about what went on with you and Liam in LA."

This steals Harry's breath for a moment, because they hadn't done that. They'd not said anything, and Liam pretty much refusing to go out or even consider Cal's party had Harry believing that LA wasn't something Liam wanted known.

"Okay," he says, finishing off his own glass, and Louis snags it and fills it again and hands it back so Harry can swallow some more.

"It's fine, Harry. We all want you both to be happy, all right? So if that's what happened, then that's great. It's no one’s business but your own, like we always said." He gives Harry this intense stare and Harry's reminded of the boy at eighteen who was so fiercely protective of Harry when he was figuring out who he was. Letting him know it was okay for him to equally want to eat Caroline out and want to suck Louis' dick. Even after, when Louis was with El properly and Harry was carrying on with Nick, he was supportive. Somewhat jealous — no matter what he said — but behind Harry all the same.

"Ta and all," Harry answers, his tone more bitter than he’d thought he still felt. "But I don't think it's going to be an issue any more. Think I would have learned not to fall for straight boys after all this time, wouldn't you?" 

"I'm not apologising for that any more," Louis snaps, his eyes bright, but Harry can see the hurt his words have caused.

Christ, Harry can be such a dick. "No," he sighs, running a hand through his curls, which are getting long again. The cut Lou gave him before the BRITS is finally growing out. He'd told her it was too short. "I'm sorry, that's so in the past. I'm just tired and grumpy."

"I did take away most of your food, too," Louis says softly, and Harry knows he's forgiven. "You want me to get it out the fridge? Heat you up a plate?" He makes to stand and Harry puts a hand on his thigh and pushes him back down. 

"'m fine, really. Maybe later when we've finished off another bottle," he says with a grin that Louis answers in return.

"Right, then," Louis says, twisting the bottle around so that the label's facing them. He's frowning and Harry can see that whatever it is Liam wants to tell him is obviously giving him some grief in trying to find a way to get it out.

"Spit it out, Lou."

"I will. I mean, I am, it's just - okay, so there were extra paps at the airport tonight when you landed, yeah?"

Harry nods and leans back into the cool of the leather sofa. 

Louis looks up at Harry, scrubbing a hand through his short, mousy brown hair, silver a little telltale at his ears. "Well, the thing is . . . maybe it'll be easier to show you," he mumbles, mostly to himself. He grabs the remote for the telly and switches through to the recorded menu, lining up some morning TV program that Harry knows his grandma still watches. 

He has another sip of his wine while the show starts and Louis fast forwards through them talking and a cooking segment before a blink-and-you'll-miss-it pop-up of Liam's face flicks past.

"That was—" Harry starts, stopping as Louis holds up a hand and tells him to wait. 

There are more people talking and something about the weather. It has a date, at least, so Harry knows it was a few days ago. And then Liam's there and Louis presses play. 

He must have skipped over some, though, the intros and a bit more, because Liam's answering a question and it's all about his new album. It's nice to hear Liam's voice again, even if it's as semi-mundane as discussing the BRIT award in a language that Harry knows they were taught back when One Direction were still around. Still, just seeing Liam tugs at something in Harry's chest and it's enough to have him ready to tell Louis to shut it off. He doesn't get a chance, though, with Louis shushing him and telling him to listen.

"So, Liam. You've had a pretty fantastic year with the album and the BRIT and all, much like one of your old boy-band alum."

Liam laughs but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He shifts forward a bit on the yellow chair that looks like it's uncomfortable to sit on for too long. Harry's sat in enough of those to recognise why Liam's moving, and why he'll move again in two questions’ time. 

"Yes, old Stylesy's done well for himself this year. Great album, still ahead of mine in the charts actually," Liam says, but the camera is off him and showing pictures of Liam and Harry in front of a restaurant that Harry _knows_ is one they ordered takeout from in LA. Back when they were together. Back when things were a lot easier than they are now.

He feels sort of cut off for a moment, like all of this is going on in front of him but it's not actually _about_ him at all. 

"You spent quite a bit of time with him last year - not that there are a lot of photos of it - but word is you stayed for the better part of six months camped out in his home. Is he still the good cook you all talked about when you were young?" The blonde-haired interviewer is smirking at him now, recrossing her legs as if Liam would be interested in her twat at all.

So he has issues with flirty morning show hosts. It's not his fault Liam's there, and even with the way they left things he still _has_ a heart.

"Breakfast foods mostly. He's great with a bacon sarnie or an omelette. He's pretty ace at those." Liam looks down and his smile softens. He looks sort of fond and sad at the same time and it turns Harry's stomach. Has him itching to reach out and touch and reassure. Has him remembering how often they ate across from each other, or side by side with their ankles crossed, or in bed with crumbs from their toast soldiers sticking to sweat-covered skin as Liam would thank Harry for breakfast with his mouth. 

It's horrible how the mind can recall the very good while making you feel so very, very bad.

"That was after your divorce came through, correct?"

Liam shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and answers with a nod. "Yes, that's all taken care of now. Soph looks after the dogs now that I'm travelling so much again. Sends me great photos and videos once in a while."

"So you're still friends, then?" the woman asks, leaning forward so her cleavage is well on display, and Harry knows what will come next as Liam answers that "of course they are."

"Any new relationship to speak of? Any girl come along to fix your broken heart?"

And there it is. If this woman, who has to be fifty in the shade if she's lucky, thinks she can nab Liam Payne, she's got to be off her rocker.

Liam doesn't hesitate with his answer. He looks this bird straight in the eye. "Sort of. I was in a relationship last year that was good for me but I sort of made a mess of it, pretty much broke both our hearts. Bollocksed it up a little more not long ago when he left town."

Harry doesn't need to look over at the interviewer to know how wide her eyes have bugged. It could have been a slip of the tongue, but Liam doesn't do that. He was always the best of them at answering off the cuff. 

"You said he — are you saying you had a relationship with a man, Liam?"

Liam nods. "Yeah, and I don't see anything wrong with it. I've been with girls most of my life but why limit yourself when it comes to love, you know?"

Harry _knows_ this woman's mouth will have dropped open. Harry's has done.

"Love? Would you say that's what you had with his fellow, or have still?"

Liam shrugs and he looks so, _so_ young at that moment. His big brown eyes are almost twinkling in the stage lighting as his fingers twitch where they're interlinked on his lap. "I think it was. I know my heart turned that way and I'm pretty sure his did, too, but like I said, I stuffed it up. I'm fairly certain it's over now, so it doesn't matter whether I like girls or guys. I think you should just, you know, go with your heart. Be with the one who makes you happy. That's what's got to count." 

It's everything Harry wanted to hear and everything he's felt and it's . . . it's so fucking much.

He doesn't realise he's crying until Louis shuts the interview off and pulls Harry into his arms. He doesn't realise that Louis is talking, telling him that it's okay, it's okay to cry, until he really lets go, with these shaking sobs that wrack his chest. But he manages to calm himself fast. He’d decided he wasn't going to cry over Liam any more. He isn't going to start now, because really, these are only words.

"You think he meant it?" Louis asks, his hands still stroking over Harry's back as they lean into the side of the sofa, Louis holding Harry like he's a bloody doll. It makes him feel warm and cared for, though, and while he's a mess of emotion it feels nice.

"I don't know. I thought that way. Like, I was sure we were falling in love, or maybe I'd fallen and was waiting for him to catch up. Then he was gone, you know? After the BRITS he came over and it was so lovely. So - so what I'd missed, and I thought . . . I don't know. I thought it would be different and then he just left. He left me, Louis." Harry finishes on a hiccough, hiding his face in Louis' chest, in his shirt that smells like some flowery washing detergent and a citrusy cologne and . . . children's cough syrup, which is explained with how little Alice was sniffling and coughing a bit when Harry was reading them their story earlier.

"Ahh," Louis hums. "This explains so much."

"I'm so glad my bloody pain is enjoyable for you, _Lewis_ ," Harry snarks, but it comes out more sad than anything, with the way he sniffles through the first part.

Louis laughs. "No, babe. It's not. It's really not. It's just, you and bloody Leemo need your heads read. Did you two ever talk or just shag each other under the hot sun over there?"

Harry rubs his face on Louis’ shirt. He figures his snot and tears will pretty much be hidden by those of Louis' little girl. 

"I'll take that as a no, then," Louis says with a sigh, pinching at Harry’s side hard.

Harry leaps back with a pained look. "That bloody hurt!" he yelps, rubbing at his side.

Louis shoves him up and stands, looking over the table and the other chair for something. "Idiots. You were always such an idiot, Harold. But this takes the proverbial cake."

"What are you talking about, Louis?" Harry asks. He sits up and wipes his face off with the bottom of his shirt. A bit disgusting, but it's not as if he's going to be going out and seeing anyone who matters at the moment. Maybe he'll just sweet-talk Eleanor and move in, be a nanny for the two girls. He cooks better than El and Louis both, he knows this; even the Nigella course he sent them on didn't help all that much. Not from what Niall says from the last dinner party El held for him and Katie. He'd said it was lucky that Katie had one of those giant handbags so they could fit in everything they didn't eat. Which was a lot, really.

"I'm just saying — fuck, where'd I put my phone?" Louis asks in return, not to Harry in particular from the way he's now on his hands and knees looking under the sofa, pushing at Harry's legs so he'll lift them up. 

"Didn't you leave it in the kitchen?" Harry points out. He vaguely remembers Ethel playing one of those Facebook-linked games. He knows Louis hates them, yet Harry's forever getting invites to play, usually before or after he gets a call from Louis' girls. 

Louis looks at Harry with a mix of appreciation and something that says "why didn't you say so earlier?" It's not the best of looks he's been given by Louis, but it's definitely not the worst.

Harry follows Louis as he rushes to the kitchen table, and the phone’s exactly where Harry thought he saw it last. Louis slides the lock across and puts in his code. 

"Who are you calling?" Harry murmurs. Louis holds up a finger, hushing him while the phone beeps with an outgoing call.

Harry sits on one of the chairs, figuring Louis will tell him soon enough. He tris not to think about Liam and all that just came before. Liam and his coming out of sorts. Liam admitting he loved Harry. Liam admitting he fucked it all up.

Liam sounding like he loved Harry still.

Harry tries really hard to not think about that last one.

He hasn't room for hope in his heart. Not after all this time. Not now.

"Zayn, babe. Sorry to ring so late, but—" Liam rolls his eyes and curses softly as Zayn murmurs on in the background, and Harry wonders just what is going on.

"He did? He didn't even leave a . . . right. Not at Nialler's, then? Andy or any of the lads from home? His mum? Ruth? Fuck, Zayn, you're shit at this."

"At what?" Harry asks, though he's starting to get the feeling he already knows.

There's only one name Louis noticeably left off then.

One name alone.

"Right. Well, let me know because I have the other one here and I'd really like to get this all sorted. It's gone on long enough."

He ends the call, shaking his head, and Harry's on the edge of his seat, feeling as though he should sit but also like he wants to walk around and maybe hit something. He's never done well with waiting on things and Louis has been nothing but confusing since Harry answered his phone on the way out of Heathrow.

"I may have had an ulterior motive for getting you here that wasn't just so you could see me and my girls."

Harry nods, because he knows this bit.

"And I might have made you watch that interview, fully knowing about why you'd buggered off to Ibiza without telling anyone but Nick where you'd gone."

"You talked to Nick?" Harry interrupts, because Louis _doesn't_ talk to Nick. Hasn't in a long, long while.

Louis screws up his face. "Of course I talked to Grimshaw. We talk." Harry lifts his one brow. "We talk about you and have done for years now. You can't just hide yourself in LA and think the rest of us don't fucking worry about you, Harry. You can't just cut us out of your life that easily."

He says these words, these things that Harry doesn't want to hear because it's a bit too close to home about how stupid he's been in the last few years, thinking he was fine on his own. Thinking he was leaving his friends to their happy existences when he didn't have one on his own was the best for everyone.

"So yes, we talk. We talked and he said where you were and that you wanted to be left alone, and then Liam turned up at Zayn's and spilled the whole bloody lot after shotgunning with Zayn a few times—"

"He did _what_ with Zayn?" Harry asks, spitting out the words and knocking his chair over as he stands up. Smoking a bit of green is one thing, but shotgunning with your ex-bandmate who Harry knows from experience likes to slip in a bit of tongue when he's just supposed to be blowing smoke in your mouth is another thing entirely. 

Louis' face lights up. "Aha! You _do_ still have feelings for him, then! Niall owes me a tenner!" 

Harry's face heats up and he feels like his tongue’s too big for his mouth when he splutters his answer. "Of course I do! I fucking fell in love with him, Louis! I fell in love with him and he wanted to pretend we weren't anything outside the walls of my house, and he left and broke my heart only to break it again when he came back to mine after the BRITS and told me he fucking _missed_ me. But he was gone the next morning before the sheets had even got cold! You don't just stop loving someone because they're being an arse!"

"He still loves you, too, you idiot! He still loves you and—"

"Well, the pages in the bloody _Daily Mail_ with him and Sophia and her wearing her ring said otherwise," Harry snaps, and Louis deflates, a look of confusion etching his brow.

"Sophia? When was he with . . . this was after the BRITS, right? So those were obviously taken days earlier, and you thought . . . ." Louis closes his eyes, shaking his head. When he opens them he looks amused, and that's not what Harry was expecting at all.

"I'll say it again: you two are idiots and you really, really need to talk."

Harry sits back down, his shoulders slumped. He's still confused about this whole Liam thing and Louis and Zayn's part in it. It's over. Harry's fine that it's over. He's fine.

"I don't understand why this is so important that I couldn't just go home. I don't know why you wanted me here if it was just to tell me how badly I screwed up my life. Again. It's been nice, Louis, but I'd really like to go home."

"Harry," Louis says, his voice soft and almost placating, on the verge of tipping into pity. 

It riles Harry up and makes his skin itch. He's suddenly thankful that Byron's wife agreed to pick him up from here so Harry has an out. He heads out the door with Louis behind him, telling him to wait, but he can't. He can't hear from Louis, of all people, why what he did was wrong. Why giving his heart to Liam was a dumb move. Liam, who always saw the best in people, who fell in love fast and hard and only thought about consequences later. Liam, who couldn't bear to be seen with Harry in public, only to be coming out on national bloody television basically implying that Harry was the one he'd fallen in love with and lost.

He gets in the car while Louis struggles not to slip over some of the girls’ shoes that they've left in a pile in front of the door. He has the engine on and ignores Louis thumping on the window as he drives off, probably coating Louis in a film of dust. 

He ignores Louis' calls lighting up his phone as he heads back toward London. Only checks his messages when he's more than halfway home. 

"I think he was waiting for you to come back. He's disappeared from Zayn's and no one knows where he is, but he'll be waiting for you, Harry. He loves you. He told me he does." Louis' last message replays first, and Harry shuts off his voicemail after that, not wanting to hear the bollocking Louis would have given him before that somewhat calm tone. 

Harry's trying hard to ignore the way his heart is racing. Trying hard not to let hope creep into his heart, but it's hard. It's hard with the little Louis said and it's hard with what he heard and saw Liam say for himself. 

His phone beeps with a text notification and of course it's Louis, just as Harry's about to switch the thing off.

_"Don't fuck it up."_

Harry isn't sure how he can, to be honest. Even if it sort of feels like the ball is now entirely in his court.

: : :

It's way too late and he's way too tired when he finally steps out of his car and starts walking up the stairs into the house. It's times like these when he's glad he paid the extra for the off-road parking. It's what makes hiding out here easier, and it means he's so much closer to his bed.

Or a cuppa. A cuppa and then bed.

He walks through to the living room, switching the telly on low just for some background noise, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees who's curled up on his sofa.

How the fuck Liam got in he has no idea. Gemma has the only other set of keys and she's living in Manchester . . . which Zayn is, too, so maybe. Maybe Harry should have checked his messages a little better. When he scrolls down further than Louis' last text and a few more he's left unanswered, there's a new one from Gem sent not long after he'd landed in Heathrow.

 **Gems:** You better not hate me for this. I gave him your keys. He made a good argument. Listen with your heart, baby brother. xx

He doesn't know what to feel - well, anything but tired - and Liam looks so, so comfortable where he is. Harry puts his phone on the coffee table and strips off his jeans and shirt, leaving him in just his pants. He pulls back the throw rug that Liam's wrapped over him and slides into the space between Liam and the back of the sofa. He probably shouldn't be doing this. He should probably wake Liam up and have this out, once and for all.

It's a little after midnight, though, and Harry's travelled too much in cars and planes today to really want to stay awake a second longer.

Liam's warm, as he usually is, as Harry settles down behind him. There's enough room for Harry's head on the fuzzy cushion Liam's using for a pillow. Harry’s close enough to breathe in the scent of some sweet flower thing that Liam must use in his hair product. It's the same as it always has been. It's soothing, along with how even Liam's breathing is and how Harry's body just _fits_ around Liam's. He isn't sure if he should touch Liam too much or not, but he's already curled up behind him so wrapping his arm around Liam's middle isn't too much of a push.

He's out within seconds.

: : :

Harry wakes up before Liam. He sort of needs a piss and his back is already starting to ache from sleeping on the sofa and not moving all night. Yet he doesn't shift. Tries to keep his breathing as normal as possible, because as much as he tried to convince himself he was over Liam, it's something he knows he never really was. It's different now, too, with Liam's interview and mentioning Harry without saying his name at all. It's different because Liam's come to him, Liam's _here_ , and as much as Harry wants to keep his distance, it's a little hard when his body keeps making these decisions for him. Like lying down behind Liam last night was all the better than walking a few more steps to the bloody king-sized bed across the hall.

He really _does_ need the loo, though, and it's just as he's made the decision to get up that he feels Liam stir.

His breathing changes, more through his nose than it was his mouth seconds before he pulls Harry’s arm around him as he starts to awaken.

"Harry," he breathes out, and it sounds more like a sigh than anything else. It's warm, though, made even more so with the way he links their fingers together, tugging their hands up over his heart and higher still. Harry's heart might stop entirely for a moment when Liam's lips brush soft over his knuckles, this barely-there touch but it means so much.

It means _too_ much.

"We need to talk," Harry says, his voice croaky and deep from sleep. Liam's whole body tenses when Harry speaks, and he feels a little lost as Liam lets go of his hand. Even more so when Liam shifts and sits up, leaving Harry colder than before as he sits to the side near Harry's feet. 

Harry pulls himself up, turns so he can tuck his feet underneath him back against the cushion they were sleeping on. He wraps the soft wool blanket around his body, feeling the chill from having the warmth of Liam stolen from him so fast. 

"Did Gemma tell you I was here?" Liam asks through a yawn, rubbing at his eyes with his hands scrunched up. It makes him look all of five, with his shirt all wonky and wrinkled from sleep. At least he's wearing more clothes than Harry is, even if his jeans are obviously undone at the fly.

It leaves Harry feeling a little naked, just in his pants and nothing else. He pulls the throw up around his shoulders, which doesn't cover him all that much, but it's better than nothing. He shakes his head before answering, just to clear the cobwebs of slumber. "Sort of. I came home and found, you then checked my phone. Nobody knew where you were. You've got Zayn and Louis, and probably more, fairly worried."

"Probably should have been. Especially after I talked with your sister. I forgot how bloody scary she can be when it comes to you." 

Harry bites down on a smile. He and Liam both know that Gemma has always been more bark than bite, but it's kind of lovely knowing that after all this time she still has his back. Still wants to protect him, especially when it seems like Harry doesn't know how to do that for himself. 

"She had every right to tell me off, though," Liam starts, and Harry looks up from where he was staring at a hole in the blanket. The thread was pulled somewhere along the line, taut all the way down to the frayed edge. Much like Harry feels right now.

"I know I hurt you - walking out that morning, leaving without a word. I know that any excuse will be just that. I thought I was ready to explain everything to you, to tell you what I wanted, but I got scared. I freaked out and I walked out, and by the time I came back you were gone." 

Harry bites at his lip. It should mean something that Liam's admitting this at the very least, but he's still hurt. He's confused about everything that he does know . . . well, thinks he does. 

"That was pretty fucking low of you, Liam. Not even a word. You could have texted me, at the least."

Liam nods and scrubs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "I know. I kicked myself later about it." He pauses and licks at his lips, makes them shine and look plush, and even now Harry still wants to kiss them. Feel them against his skin. "Gemma told me you saw the paper that morning after I'd left. I'm sorry, Harry." 

Harry falls in on himself a little. That probably hurt the most. Seeing something that looked so much like Liam was still hiding from what they had. From what they could have been.

"Those pictures of me and Soph weren't anything like you thought.," Liam continues, sounding more and more sure. "I'd gone over there before the BRITS to tell her about you, about us. I wanted to tell her, before I told anyone else, that I wanted to be honest about how I felt. I didn't want her just reading it in the papers or hearing it on some TV show. I owed it to her to tell her myself. Do you understand that, at least?" He's gazing at Harry with his big brown, honest eyes and he looks ever so sincere. 

Harry nods, because he'd expect no less from Liam. Still, it doesn't explain everything. "I still found out in one of those bloody TV shows." 

Liam winces, wringing his hands a bit on his lap. "I know, and I'm sorry about that, too, but I couldn't get hold of you. You weren't here or at your house in LA. I even flew out in case you were hiding with your phone off. I figured you'd given up waiting on me to figure it out, and then I had the interview. I hadn't planned on coming out at that moment, it just sort of happened when she asked me if there was anyone special, and I couldn’t _not_ think of you. Even if I'd ballsed up whatever we had, you're still all I can think about, all I care about, and then the rest just sort of . . . happened."

Harry believes that. Knows that Liam sometimes gets a bit too honest in interviews. There have been many times the other boys had to shut him down before he let too many band secrets out. Niall especially bore the brunt of that, having his fair share of red-faced moments when Liam couldn't find the on switch to his brain-to-mouth filter.

"Did you mean it, then?" Harry asks, his heart feeling less hurt than it has in months, less bruised from seeing Liam's interview, just from having Liam here and explaining himself up front. "Did you mean what you said?

Liam sits dead still and looks Harry straight in the eye with a fierceness Harry hasn't seen in a long time. "Yes. Yes, that I fell in love with you. That I am in love with you. Don't think I know how not to be yet."

Harry blinks and stares because this is different. This is so utterly different than watching Liam say these things to some interviewer type. This is Liam looking at him with everything Harry felt himself when they were together. With everything that Harry feels still.

"I know you might not feel that way now; I know you said you'd wait but you never said for how long, and I've left you too many times to count." He takes a deep, shuddering breath, but his eyes never leave Harry's. "But I think it's important that I say it - that I say it to you. That you know I love you. I have done for—"

"I know," Harry interrupts, not able to keep it in because he does. He's known since Liam didn't leave in LA. He's known since that first morning when he woke up and pretended they hadn't kissed the night before.

"—quite a while and - you know?" Liam finishes his line of thought, looking a little shocked at Harry's words.

Harry nods, grinning as his insides start to warm up, this buzz under his skin that's always around when Liam is back in full force. They may just be words, but they mean so much more to Harry. So much.

"I know. I know that you love me because I've always known. You braved my sister and nearly broke into my house just to let me know. You came out on national bloody TV and you're here. You're here, and that counts the most."

Liam stands up and walks the few steps to Harry, where he puts out his hand for Harry to take. Harry unwinds his legs and takes Liam's hand, letting Liam pull him up. He winds his arms around Liam's waist as Liam softly cradles Harry's face in his hands.

Liam blinks and stares, as if he's searching Harry's face for some sign of hesitancy, but he won't find any. Harry's as deep into this as Liam. If Liam wants it.

"London or LA?" Liam asks. Harry wracks his brain to figure out what Liam's on about but comes up short.

"What?"

"London—" Liam smiles, brushing his thumbs soft over the apples of Harry's cheeks— "or LA? Where do you want me to live? I'll move wherever you want me to. I want us to make this work."

"You want to talk about where we're going to live right now?" Harry asks, tugging Liam closer by the belt loops. His hands have slid around to the small of Liam's back.

Liam tilts his head down and looks up at Harry through long, dark lashes. "Yes. I don't want to waste any more time being apart. I want what we had in the beginning. I want you, as much as you'll let me have you."

Fuck, he's so sincere. Harry's heart feels as though it may beat right out of his chest, it's so full. "I think it doesn't matter. It doesn't, as long as I have you."

Liam laughs, deep and low, and squeezes Harry's cheeks together so his lips are smooshed, pressing their foreheads together. "Fuck, that was cheesy, Haz."

Harry shrugs and he can't stop smiling. He can't recall one thing that's felt this good. "Meant it, though."

"I know," Liam whispers, his lips finally meeting Harry's, and it _is_ cheesy how Harry feels then. He pulls Liam in closer and his hands slide up and under Liam's thin shirt, mapping out the warmth of his back, his palms sweeping over every muscle and knob of Liam’s spine. 

Liam feels so good under Harry's fingertips, and when he tilts Harry's face to deepen their kiss Harry goes with it willingly. He's missed how _good_ Liam is at this. His tongue slides easily against Harry's own and Harry moans at the feel of it. It feels different, though; maybe it's because they've both finally been honest about how they feel. Maybe it's because he's properly in love.

Christ, he's even making himself feel a bit ill with all the sweetness going on.

"I love you, I really do," Liam whispers against Harry's lips. Harry finds himself smiling so hard that he can barely return the sentiment, and it's even worse when Liam tries to kiss him again. 

Their noses bump and Harry's teeth bang against the inside of his lips a few times, and they end up laughing so hard they give up. Harry pulls Liam back onto the sofa with him and spreads his thighs so Liam can fit between them. Liam holds himself over Harry with his hands pressed into the cushion on either side of Harry's head.

"We're kind of bad at this," Harry says, running his hand over Liam's chest. 

Liam grins and his eyes go all squinty, his skin crinkling right up in the corners. "Yeah, but we've got all the time in the world to get better at it.”

: : :

After too many yawns from both of them in mid-snog, and Liam's empty stomach making its presence known, they finally surface from the sofa. 

"There's a caf that does really great breakfast all day down the corner," Harry says, thinking about how little he ate the night before and how hungry he actually is. He pushes at Liam, who rolls up off of Harry and stands to pull his jeans up from where Harry may have pushed them down to his ankles when he was groping Liam's arse before.

Liam nods, yawning with his arms raised up above his head, causing his shirt to ride up high and reveal that toned stomach he's known for. The dark trail of hair grows thicker as Harry follows it with his stare, down from Liam’s belly button and under the thick band of white elastic that's holding his pants up. Harry wants more than to just snog Liam on his sofa. He wants to get his mouth on Liam again. Every single part. He wants to remember what it's like to have Liam thicken up on his tongue, to taste him at the back of his throat. He wants to hear Liam's moans echo off the walls as Harry takes him apart with tongue and finger and finally his cock. They've not done that yet. Harry really wants to know if Liam would let him, or if maybe Liam will fuck Harry instead. Either or, he really wouldn't mind.

Maybe they should work up more of an appetite. Harry's bed is just through the door and it's really on Liam, who's not wearing much. That's near to no clothing to get out of the road.

"I could eat," Liam says, and Harry glances back up and sees how dark Liam's eyes have turned as he licks over his lips quick. Fuck, he'd forgotten how much he loves Liam's lips. 

Then Harry's stomach makes this disgustingly loud sound and, well . . . .

The mood is sort of lost after that.

"Food," Liam says. He helps Harry up from the sofa, brushing his lips against Harry's before slapping him on the bum. "Go put some clothes on, then. The faster we both get fed and back again, the faster we can work off whatever we eat."

Harry grumbles as he picks up his jeans from where he'd folded them the night before. "You better mean in the bedroom, Payne." 

Liam laughs. "I wasn't thinking about going for a jog, mate."

"Good." Harry pouts and throws his shirt back on. "Because I have plans for you that don't involve either of us being upright."

He loses his breath when Liam picks him up fast, knocking his back against the wall. "I don't know about that." He grinds his hips against Harry's and oh, okay. Plan B, maybe, after all.

"But," Liam sighs, letting Harry down and taking a few steps backward, the cheekiest of grins on his face, "let's get you food first."

Harry takes a moment to pull himself together. His heart is beating a little too fast as he picks up his wallet and keys and follows Liam to the door. He may have to rearrange himself before he goes. 

The sun's bright when they step outside, and Harry turns them toward the caf, a bright smile on his face that he can't be bothered to turn off. They're about halfway there when they get spotted, and Harry sees the camera first. He turns like he’s going to go back to the house, but Liam stops him. 

"We’re not hiding any more," he says, his dark eyes sparkling with the smile that echoes on his lips. He takes Harry by the hand, lacing their fingers together, and pulls him in to kiss him soft and sure on the lips. 

They keep walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massive thanks to my Mamacita-San for beta'ing everything ever. any leftover mistakes are down to me x


End file.
